Any Time at All
by CrazyCatie
Summary: She was just a normal girl, until four of the most charming boys in history swept her away into the past, or should I say, their present . With no more to go off of than an unlikely promise from John Lennon, she leaves behind everything she ever knew.
1. Hello Goodbye

**Ugh, I can't believe I'm starting ANOTHER one. And you know this is going to be the only story I'm going to write about. But, I've had this here for a while, and I want to be Superwoman and do impossible things, so I guess I am. I know exactly what's going to happen in this story, by the way, but am not sure of one thing. I'm holding a poll on my profile about which Beatles she's going to fall in love with (you people don't know her name yet) because they're all so charming you know she's going to. So vote on that one, but don't base it too heavily on what you see here, because (SPOILER ALERT!!!!) there's something that George is not saying right yet. I want you to vote on what you think the character would be good with, and what you personally would like to see. And if you really want John…well…I don't think that I make it any big secret that I don't really like him. But, I am, of course, considering him. So, this is chapter one, and don't judge it too harshly, because I'll probably go back and change some things. Here we go!**

I sat in my bed, my covers huddled around me, and my laptop resting on my knees. The website I was on asked me what song I wanted to listen to next, so I chose my favorite: In My Life. As I listened to the song, I thought of the man who wrote it. From what I gathered about him, John Lennon was a unique person, not quite caring what other people thought and doing his own thing. I had seen all the Beatles movies a thousand times, and I had always thought he came off as quite the asshole. But, when I listened to his music, he seemed to be a different person. I sighed, tracing the picture of his face with the very tip of my index finger, and thought that no matter what kind of person he was, he didn't deserve to come to the end that he did. No one did.

I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand, its digital glow easy to read in the darkness that currently shrouded me. 11: 16. Exhaustion tugged at my eyes, forcing me to snap my laptop shut midsong and slide it onto the ground next to my bed. I leaned back, and for some odd reason, I felt almost too sad to go to sleep just yet. I closed my eyes, but all I could see were the old newspaper articles that I had seen on the Internet. Their headlines differed, but I had divided them in my head into two piles. The first, the shooting of John Lennon. I hadn't been alive for that one, that being in 1980. The second pile was of the death of George Harrison, the lesser known, quiet Beatle. I found his death almost as sad as John's, maybe even more, seeing as he was probably my favorite of them all. I had been nine in 2001, and I remember my mom standing in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips, and her eyes glued to the T.V. Her hand slowly started moving up towards her mouth, and she stayed like that, tears glistening in her eyes, until the newscast was over. When I asked her what had happened, she just told me that someone very extraordinary had died. Thinking back on it now, I think she must have been a little melodramatic. It wasn't like she had known him personally, was it?

I rolled over onto my side, hoping that I might fall asleep more easily like this. Eventually, I must have drifted into a light sleep. I had wild dreams of walruses chasing me down street after street, all of them called Penny Lane. I tossed and turned, eventually ending up with my face totally off the pillow, lying on my arm, my head dangerously close to the open side of my bed. It was only when I heard their whispering did I wake up.

"Shh, you'll wake her! We don't want to scare her!" My eyes shot open. I had never been a heavy sleeper, so it was no wonder that even the tiniest of voices had jolted me out of my dream. Everything was silent for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then I saw them.

By 'them' I mean the pair of big, round, hazel eyes that were peeking just above the horizon of my bed. Being the fan-girl that I was, I recognized them instantly. Which was strange, seeing as I SHOULDN'T have recognized them, not here, right in front of my face, when the man they belonged to was thousands of miles away. That was I screamed.

Paul McCartney quickly leapt to his feet and clapped his hand over my mouth. "Quiet!" he hissed at me, then turned to someone kneeling behind him. "This bird has quite the set of pipes, eh?"

I strained to see who was on the floor, but I couldn't see, as it was so dark in the room that I could barely see Paul's face anymore. It took me a moment to realize why this was; they had shut my bedroom door. The two men began a heated discussion, Paul's hand still locked in place, regarding me temporarily speechless.

"Well, what are we supposed to do now?" Other Guy asked in a deep, Liverpoolian accent. "We can't just steal her away!"

Paul twitched his mouth impatiently. "C'mon, Georgie! We can't just leave now! Imagine if she tells anybody about what happened, they'll throw her in the loony bin for God's sake!" Georgie? So Other Guy was George Harrison? My heart sped up, and I tried again to get a better look.

I heard George stand up, and in the sliver of light coming from the gash in my window shade, I saw him for the first time. He was thin, will a pallid face and hallowed cheeks. His thick eyebrows were knitted together in anxiety, and his mop top of hair fell into his dark eyes. He was everything I had seen in pictures, yet so different. What struck me the most was how young he looked. He seemed to be about my age, and I always pictured him much older.

"Aye, that she will. So we take her then?" He suddenly looked down at me, and I wasn't sure what exactly he saw, but his face clouded over. I wanted to ask him what was the matter, but Paul still had his hand over my mouth.

I reached up and tried to pry his hand off, but he just looked down at me, smirking a bit. "She's a feisty one," he announced, then leaned down to look me more in the eyes. "Don't worry, love, we'll explain this all once we're home free." I desperately wanted to ask him what this meant, but my obstacle was still in place.

By now, I was thoroughly convinced that I was still dreaming. I mean, this was impossible, right? Paul McCartney was over sixty five years old, yet here he was, his young, unwithered hand on my lips. And George Harrison…God, he was dead! He had died of lung cancer when I was nine years old! What the hell was he doing here, looking no more than eighteen?

George glanced out the window, letting some light filter into the room again, and then looked back to Paul. "It's now or never, Paulie."

Paul looked down at me once again, his smirk now gone, replaced by a more serious expression. "Alright, I'm gonna take my hand off on the count of three, but only if you promise not to scream." I nodded, and he began to count down. "One…two…three!" He pulled his palm off, jumping back as though I was an exploding bomb. I sat up wearily in bed, rubbing my eyes.

"I'm not gonna scream, dumbass." I was NOT one to be woken up in the middle of the night. Wait, what time was it? I glanced over at the clock, and it read 12: 04. They must have woken me up around midnight then. Punctual, these Beatles were.

George chuckled. "This one's got a mouth, doesn't she?" He held out his hand to me, and I ignored it, stumbling out of bed on my own. This was a dream, after all, wasn't it? Why shouldn't I go along with it?

Paul caught me before I fell, having tripped on my forgotten laptop, and put me on my feet again. He took a step back and considered me. "You're a mess," he decided. Oh, that was great, just what every girl dreamed to be called by one of the cutest boys that ever lived. And, okay, so I wasn't looking my best, but I had just woken up! What did he expect?

"Shut up," I replied, shaking out my slightly damp curls. I had taken a shower before bed, and I was sure they would be a hot mess right now. I pulled them back into a ponytail, securing them with a ponytail holder, and smoothed my hands over my tank-top. I thanked God I had been too lazy to take off my bra before bed tonight.

"Okay, let's get moving," George said from behind me, putting a hand on my back and pushing me out the door that Paul was holding open.

"Where are you taking me?" I hissed as we passed my parent's bedroom, where I could hear my dad snoring. I shivered slightly, berating myself for not having worn something more season-appropriate to bed. If they were taking me outside, I swear to God….

Wait, if I could feel cold then…no, this was most definitely a dream. I mean, everything that was happening was not possible. Maybe it was just a little bit cold in my bed right now. I tried to tell my conscious self to pull up her blankets, but all I got back from my mind was a mental 'WTF?'.

George continued to guide me along the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. There, the lights were all on, and then I realized that was our destination. I could hear muffled laughter, and upon our arrival, Paul turned around and told us to wait. He sauntered into the kitchen, where we could hear him talking to other people. I noticed that George still had his hand on the small of my back, though we were no longer walking.

"Listen, lads, she's not what we're used to, okay? Just…just try not to make her too uncomfortable." He stuck his hand out the door, signaling for us to come in. This time, before George could restart his pushing, I walked ahead of him.

As soon as I walked in, all noise stopped. I swear to God, you could hear a pin drop. George scampered in, taking his place next to Paul. It was then that I realized they were all here. John Lennon was sitting on the counter top, his legs dangling over, and Ringo Starr was leaning against the stove, dangerously close to switching it on and lighting himself on fire.

I saw John's beady eyes travel all the way up from my bare feet to the tops of my shoulders. His mouth trembled, as though he were holding back a smile. I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't wearing glasses. That must mean that they were from sometime before 1966.

And it was John, in fact, that broke the silence. "They sent us here for a bloody bint!" he exclaimed, reaching over smacking Ringo's chest with his hand, pointing at me. Ringo sniggered into his hand.

I blushed furiously, not even sure what the hell a 'bint' was, but positive that it was nothing good. My fears were confirmed when Paul pointed at John sternly and said, "Hey, now. That's a lady you're talking to. She's just been sleeping, after all."

George nodded when John didn't look convinced. "It's true. I reckon that there's a lot of people in this time that sleep in their skivvies."

My flush only deepened. They thought I was walking around in my UNDERWEAR???!!! Oh, God, that was so embarrassing. I looked down at myself. A tank top and shorts was a perfectly acceptable thing to wear to bed! Okay, maybe the shorts were a little bit shorter than the usual, but come on! I didn't expect anyone to see me in them, I was supposed to be sleeping right now!

"Excuse me," I spoke up, and they all turned to look at me. "Actually, these are called 'pajamas' and they are what normal people wear to bed in the summertime." I gave them all my most defiant expression, but John just laughed again.

He gestured out the window, where newly fallen snow was falling. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is this what summer looks like in Chicago? You'll have to forgive me, I've never been." He smiled that stupid, cocky smile again, and I could feel the frustration building up inside of me.

"No, I was just hot before I-"

"Ohh, she was feeling hot!" John exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air daintily and putting on a fake falsetto voice. "Somebody call the fire department! Crack a window…something! But seriously, love, don't you think it's a little early to be going through the change. You must have, I don't know, a year or two left before that, huh?"

George and Paul, who had stood up for me before, were smirking right along with the other two now. Great, I had lost my only allies. I decided that I wouldn't play nice with him anymore, but use what I knew about his life already. After all, he was the one invading MY time period.

I took a menacing step forward. "That's hilarious! I'm sure Cynthia would really appreciate you making fun of women." That made the smile slip right off of his face. He glared down at me, and I could feel the stares of the other three two.

"How do you know about that?" he asked in a deadly voice. His already squinty eyes were narrowed beyond seeing point, and his knuckles were turning white, he was clutching the counter top so hard.

I shrugged. "You can't forget, John, that this isn't the sixties anymore. A lot has happened since then." John's frown deepened, and he leaned away from me.

"How do you know his name?" Ringo asked me. I turned to him. He looked a little bit scared, but he held his ground. I had always liked Ringo Starr; out of all of them he made me laugh the most. I decided I would be nice to him.

"Oh, a lot of stuff has happened to John Lennon since your time." These words had come out slightly cold, and everybody in the room shivered a bit. Hell, they probably thought I was some kind of obsessed-stalker girl.

It was quiet in the room, and I knew that all four of them were wondering exactly what I was talking about, though none of them wanted to say it. Finally, John spoke again.

"What…what happened?" Was it my imagination, or did the Great John Lennon sound a little bit…scared? I turned around to look at him, my eyes narrowed and my hip cocked. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you think?" I watched as the effect of these words sunk in. His face completely fell, and for a minute, I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"So I'm dead then." It wasn't a question, more like a fact that he didn't want to know.

"No shit, Sherlock." I rolled my eyes, turning back to the other three Beatles. Okay, I was being a little bit irrationally mean. But he called me a bint! Whatever the hell that means. Paul's eyes widened so that they were (what I thought must be impossible) bigger than usual. George shook his head, looking down, but Ringo looked curious still.

"So we became pretty good, then?" He watched me with his clear blue eyes. I had never noticed that he had such pretty eyes, I had been so focused on the other boys.

He really didn't know this? I wondered what time period they were from, guessing from about 1961-1964. Those were the years they were just forming and just releasing their first album. It was actually kind of funny. Here in front of me was the greatest group in the history of music, and they didn't even realize just how big they were going to get.

"Yeah," I mumbled, suddenly ashamed that I had been such a…well, bitch to John. After all, he was one of my favorite people in all of history. They didn't have any idea what things were like now.

Paul looked up at me suddenly. "So what ever happened to us, or don't you know?" He looked honestly curious, and it made me laugh.

"Oh, everybody knows." I sat down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, figuring that this was probably going to take a while.

"Everybody?" George breathed, smiling like this was the best thing he had heard since Beethoven. I grinned a little bit, welcoming the fact that I was their wealth of knowledge. But then something occurred to me.

"You know what?" All four of them looked at me, noting my sudden change of tone. "I don't think I should be telling you this."

George, Paul, and Ringo frowned, but John just slid off the counter, striding over to the calendar. It looked like he got a little bit of his old self back. He studied it while the others began bombing me with whys.

"Aw, come on. We won't tell anyone!" That one was Ringo.

"Well you've already told us this much, you might as well…." George.

"I can make it worth your while." Plus a wink. Definitely Paul.

"It's December 7th, 2010!" That was from John. I leaned back, and John was looking at me with a shocked expression. "2010!"

"Actually, it's December 8th," I corrected him automatically, looking at the time. It was almost one. Then my heart stopped in realization at what that meant. "And you should be looking at the day, not the year, John Lennon."

John frowned, stepping back to look at the calendar again, like it might give him some sort of answer. When he didn't see anything, he asked, "Why?"

I bit my lip hesitantly. I had just told the others that I wouldn't tell them any more futuristic facts. I was worried that it might go to their heads, and then some of the wonderful things they did in the past would never happen. But this was a bit different. I mean, just tonight I had wished that someone could go back and warn John, just tell him to avoid this day. I had figured this would be impossible, but now….

"Let's just say that December 8, 1980 is NOT a very good day for you." That was all I was going to say, but he put on a puppy dog face and pressed me.

"Please tell me! You can't just say something like that and expect me not to say anything."

He also got encouragement from his band mates. "I don't even think John would do something like that to someone."

"Be a sweetheart, go ahead."

"I can make it worth your while."

John smiled at them, and I rolled my eyes. "Fine. But don't say that I didn't try to stop it." He nodded, gazing at me intently.

When I hesitated for a moment, he opened his mouth to say something. I quickly held up my palm to him, signaling for him to stop. "Okay! If you must know…."

I really didn't want to be the one to tell him this. I could be mean, but I wasn't a total bitch. I grimaced, looking at the ground.

"I swear to God, if you don't tell me…" he took a threatening step forward.

I threw my hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. December 8, 1980 is-"

"You know, what? If it's all that bad, maybe I don't want to know."

"-is the day you died."

**Oops! Okay, what do you guys think? I mean, I know that it's a little rough around the edges, but give it a chance, it'll get better. Review, pretty please, and don't forget to vote on my poll! I'm really excited for this one, so don't ruin it by all voting for John. And that means you!**


	2. Anna Go To Him

**No. I swear to God, if even one more of you people vote for John, I am going to die. No, really, I am. What part of I don't like him don't you people get???!!! I know what I said, but I'm thinking that I might take all that back. I mean, the people have spoken, and though the poll is still open (PLEASE VOTE ON THAT. THANK YOU) I'm pretty sure of what I want to happen. In other words, I think I've chosen my boy. But, still vote!!! I may change my mind; I actually WANT to change my mind. But, if this is the way it's going to be, I'm going to torture everybody for a while and not tell anybody my choice. But not to worry, there wasn't going to be any of that in this chapter anyways. Anyways, here's chapter two.**

The room was dead silent. John stumbled backwards, knocking into the counter. He slowly moved his hands to his hair and he ran them through it. "Oh, well…oh." He turned away from me, and I felt so immeasurably bad.

"I'm so sorry. I thought that was what you wanted!" I bit my lip, taking a step back. I knew what could happen when John Lennon got upset. But he didn't look mad, or even sad really, just defeated. Ringo walked over to him, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"It's okay, mate. It happens to us all eventually." Then he looked at me again, his stare slightly disproving. "Doesn't it?"

I could feel their eyes all on me, and my face got hot. I didn't want to tell them. I really, really didn't. They were all already mad at me, though I hadn't seen the looks on Paul and George's faces. I was sort of dreading turning around.

"Ummm." They continued to stare at me, and I knew the only way out of it was to tell the truth. "I don't know how you or Paul will die." I looked at my feet uncomfortably. George cleared his throat, and I felt him move in front of me, so that if I looked up I would be staring straight at him.

"Well?" he asked gently, lifting my head with the tip of his index finger. My heart raced as I looked into his dark eyes, and I knew I would never be able to tell him.

I struggled to catch my breath again. "I…I'm not going to tell y-you anything til you tell m-me what you're doing here." I stepped back from him, my eyes widened in defiance. He gazed back right back, not saying anything. I wonder what he was looking for, his stare seeping do deeply into me like that. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it wasn't romantic. It just felt like he was trying to find something. All of a sudden his mouth fell open and he took a step backwards, his eyes narrowed in…disbelief?

"Awkward." Paul sang from behind us, rocking on his heels. I turned around, sticking my tongue out at him, and he chuckled brightly.

"But really, what are you doing here? For the sake of the progress with the dream, it would be nice to know." I searched each one of their faces, Paul moving to stand in front me with his band mates. They formed a natural looking line, and it almost made me laugh. There were so many different pictures of them standing side by side, but I figured that was the photographers doing. Now I realized that was just the way they liked to be.

John, surprisingly, spoke before any of them could. I had figured that he was done with his talking for the night. "What the hell are you going on about now?" he asked flatly, his tired eyes roving down to mine.

Paul and Ringo exchanged a look. "Are you okay, love? This isn't a dream." Ringo said, looking skeptical.

Paul shrugged. "I told ye she liked us. Thinks she's dreaming she's so happy that we're here." The boys smirked, but I gave them my most sarcastic smile.

"You're so funny, Paul! But really, I should be waking up any second now, so you might as well get on with it." I waved my hand to show that they could go on any time now.

"Erm…okay. Whatever you'd like to think."

"I AM dreaming!" I yelled stubbornly, forgetting to keep my voice down, as it was nearing one thirty. Jesus, I HAD to be dreaming. Otherwise I was completely delusional and I was hallucinating right now. Which I was not. I didn't think.

"Ooookay." Ringo muttered, looking away and casting a smile to George and Paul. I couldn't stand that I was the outsider here. I mean, did they have to make fun of me RIGHT TO MY FACE???

"Please," I grumbled tiredly, "just tell me what you want from me."

"Well, it started after we were finished playing a show at the Cavern Club. One of our first with Rings." Paul started, finally giving in.

I didn't see how that related to me in any way, shape, or form, but maybe they would get to that part. "Yes…and?"

"I was getting there! We were packing up our stuff when this guy came up to us and told us that we had to follow him. What was his name, George?"

"Er, Dr. Robert Ryan. Nice man."

"Ah, yes! Thank you, George. So, anyways, Dr. Robert tells us to follow him, and he takes us to a room in the back of the club. And then he tells us that we have to go find a girl named Anna Rose. And we're thinking 'Anna Rose? Who the hell is Anna Rose?' And then he explains that we wouldn't know her, seeing as she hasn't been born yet."

The Beatles all nodded solemnly, and I raised my eyebrows. "So Dr. Robert Ryan wanted you to find me. Why?" I knew exactly who Robert Ryan was. Ryan was my mom's maiden name, and his first name had been Bob. He was a doctor, and he moved to England from Ireland to do some work when he was twenty one years old. That was where he met my grandmother, also an Irish immigrant. But how would he know my name? And why did he want the Beatles to meet me?

"We don't know. But he offered us a lot of money to find you and take you back here. And, of course, we jumped on that one. He told us that we had to find you, then call this number when we were done." He pulled out a crinkled napkin.

I was still unconvinced. That made absolutely no sense. But then again, this was a dream. A very long dream, now that I thought of it. "How'd you go from whatever year you're from to 2010?"

"Actually, it's supposed to be 1962." John spoke up. "And it was that Ryan bloke. He told us to close our eyes and one second we were in the back of the Club, and the next we were in your kitchen. And that's what happened. So now can we call the git and get on with it so that we can go home?" He rubbed his face wearily.

1962. So that meant George was…eighteen, if it was still December in Liverpool when we got there. Because I was assuming that's where we were going. But my alarm clock was bound to go off soon, so maybe I wouldn't find out. But anyways, George was my age, which was weird. I don't know why, it just was.

"Fine let's call it. I want to see where this goes." Paul shrugged and reached out for the paper, but Ringo looked at me oddly from the corner of his eye.

"So you ARE Anna Rose, right?" His piercing gaze made me blush a little bit. That, and I wasn't used to anybody calling me Anna. That was usually reserved only for when I was in trouble.

"Technically." The other boys looked up in surprise at my tone, seeing my grimace.

"What do you mean, 'technically'?" John wanted to know, sounding quite irritable. I still felt a little bit bad that I had put him in this mood.

"Well, my first name is Anna, that's true, but Rose is actually my last name. My mom's name is Joan, and she made that my middle name, so everybody just calls me A.J."

"That's a boy's name," George mumbled, "and you are anything but a boy." Paul and Ringo nodded in agreement. John slumped back against the cabinets, not saying anything.

"Thanks. Um, can you guys give John and me a second; I want to talk to him." John narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but made no movement of protest, so the boys filed out, exchanging looks with each other and glancing back at us.

"I'm sorry, John," I said once they were gone. "I didn't mean to…you did say you wanted to know."

He closed his eyes, then reopened them and pushed off the counter. "Will I change everything if I stop it? Now that I know, I have to, don't I?" He looked so lost, so conflicted, I took two steps toward him and placed my hand on his forearm.

"It'll be okay," I murmured, gazing up at him. He looked down at me, then at my hand, then back at me, a slow smile creeping onto his face.

"Anna-"

"It's A.J."

"-if I wanted someone to manhandle me, I would call George back in here let him have a go."

I stared at him blankly. He twisted his face into a serious expression, then lifted my hand off his arm with his other hand. He crossed his arms, cocking his head and looking right down into my eyes. There was something familiar there….

That was when I realized it. "This isn't a dream, is it?" I looked around the room. Everything was way too real to be imagined. John just looked at me. "And you're really John Lennon, aren't you?"

"The one and only," he declared proudly, popping the collar on his leather jacket. I looked over at the three faces that were peering around the corner of the doorway.

"You're really the Beatles, aren't you?" I asked, becoming a little bit dazed. They all nodded, watching me apprehensively. "Oh, my God."

I staggered back into the table, closing my eyes and shaking my head violently. When I opened my eyes, they were still there. "Shit! I'm going crazy!"

Paul stepped forward, grabbing me before I completely lost it and fell down on the floor. He gently lowered me into a chair. "Shhh. It's going to be alright."

My stomach churned, and I felt like I was going to faint. I wondered if all crazy people knew that they were the way they were. Paul pushed my hair out of my face. "You're gonna be fine. We'll just go home, and then you can rest a little bit."

"Huh?" Home? I WAS home. What was he talking…ah, Liverpool. But, I couldn't go there! If I just left, no warning, no good-bye, no anything, my parents would die with worry! And who knows how long I'd be gone. "No, I'm sorry, I can't go with you."

"WHAT?!" John exploded. Oh, God. "We come all the way here, go through all the trouble of convincing you, and then right when we're about to go, you back out? We would be losing actual MONEY!!! No, I refuse to hear this; you're going."

What the hell? He couldn't order me around like that. Especially not for _money_. "You are a selfish, pig bastard, John Lennon. And I am NOT going with you." The room was completely silent, and fire danced in John's eyes. Then, Ringo snorted into his palm, and Paul looked at me in awe.

"You," he uttered, "are a brave girl." I had to smile a little bit. It felt unbelievable to render John speechless.

"Yes," George agreed, moving out of the doorway on which he was leaning. "But be that as it may, I think you should go with us. It won't take too long. We'd have you back here before you knew it."

George cringed a little bit when I opened my mouth, but I wouldn't yell at him. "I really can't take that risk, though. I have school, my family, a life. I can't just leave it all behind at the drop of a hat."

John sighed, as though all this came back to him. "Fine, then. I personally promise that you will be back here by morning. Now will you come on?"

I looked down, contemplating this. It was kind of a lot for them to ask of me. And they didn't even really know what Doctor Robert wanted. But, somehow, I trusted him. It was irrational, true, but in some odd way, I believed that he would bring me back. And that was why I stood up, grabbed the phone, and said, "Okay. Let's do this."

John didn't look too surprised, but the other three were staring at me like I was completely mad. I ignored their looks, holding out my hand for the napkin with the number. Paul silently handed it over.

I dialed the number on the phone, pressed speakerphone, and waited for somebody to pick up.

"A.J.," the voice on the other line muttered on the third ring. It gave me chills, and I recognized that voice instantly. There was the same heavy Irish accent, the deepness, the gentleness when he spoke my name. This was definitely my grandfather.

"Yes?"

"The boys found you then?" It wasn't actually a question. I mean, why else would I be calling a number that was forty-eight years old?

"Yes. But, Pop, I don't understand-"

"And you're all ready?" I looked around the room, and they all nodded.

"Why not."

"Close your eyes then, child, and tell them boys to do the same."

"Alright, then." I watched as one by one the boys closed their eyes. I took a deep breath, and slowly eased my eyelids down.

Nothing happened.

Just as I was wondering what was going on, and how ridiculous I looked, I heard Ringo say, "Aye, I reckon ye can open your eyes now."

I blushed, springing my eyes open. Paul and John were already gone, and George and Ringo were smirking at me. My eyes started to adjust to the lack of light, and the haze of smoke that was clouding over my head.

"Where are we?" I asked, shaking my head to clear it.

Just then, the door slammed open, and an angry John burst through it. The haze of smoke turned into a screen, and I thought I would die of lung cancer just from standing there. "Where is that Irish bloke, anyways? He just left us! Where's our money?"

Paul followed him in the back room, looking much more relaxed. "Before you go yelling at her again, we should probably show her around a little bit. Eh, Johnny?"

John grunted, crossing his arms. George grabbed my hand, leading me down a hallway, where I could hear an increasingly loud noise. We turned a sharp left, and I stopped dead in my tracks, the sound level threatening to blow me back into Ringo. There was a sea of people, all dressed in black, and every one of them either seemed to be holding a bottle of beer or a cigarette. There was a youthful band mounting the stage, and I remembered that Paul had said they had just finished playing a show.

A girl in a slinky, dark colored dress pushed past me, giving me a withering look. "Hey, boys," she rasped with a thick smoker's voice. John winked at her, and Paul smiled. Disgusting.

"Mm mm, Rita," John whispered to Paul. Ringo gave them a dirty look, shushing them.

George dropped my hand and spread his arms out proudly, gesturing to everything in the tiny space. "This," he announced, "is the Cavern Club."

**Ooookay, so, what do we know now? Out main character's name is A.J. Rose, she is eighteen, she lives in Chicago (the greatest place in the world to live :^) ), and she thinks she is crazy because the Beatles went into the future and practically kidnapped her. I wouldn't mind that part so much, and I'm sure you would agree with me. I have the BEST idea for this, and all you John-lovers are gonna totally 'AWWWW' when I finally get around to it, which won't be for a little while. But there are many questions still, like why does George keep looking at her funny? And why does A.J.'s grandfather want her to go back in time? And most importantly, WHO WILL SHE END UP WITH!!!??? Ok, that part I sort of already know. But you don't, so ha. REVIEW!!! Oh, and please please vote on my poll, I want to see some people be a little more creative and make me change my mind. THANKS!!!**


	3. Everybody's Trying to be My Baby

**Ok, if you're wondering how in the hell I'm updating so fast, the truth is that I have the first four chapters all final drafted (though my final draft IS my first draft, and even though that's horrible writing technique, I don't really give a damn) and saved on my computer. Then, I just put them on here when I feel like it, and I sit back and wait. It's so funny how you people just eat up the Beatles stories, and then the fics that actually belong in this section just get untouched. On one side, I'm complaining, on the other side I'm totally not.**

**Oh, God, I'm doing the dreaded double author's note. But really, this is a whole other subject in its entirety. John-fans, yes, I do care about your votes. Don't think I am not listening to them and taking them into consideration. The thing is, it would be SO HARD for me to write a love story between A.J. and John, simply because I don't like John as a person. I mean, how can I be writing 'I love you' and thinking 'I hate you'? It just doesn't work. So, I'm sorry for that. Also, I'm not going to make Paul out to be any sort of sex fiend or a jerk. I'm going to make him for what he really was (well, I guess is): a ladies' man with morals (haha Sweeneysbestfriend). **

** I'm tripling. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just wanted to say one thing to FYI. I know EXACTLY where you are coming from. John, I will guarantee you, is NOT okay with this death thing. And if you'll remember, I was (still am) holding the poll on which boy **_**A.J.**_** will fall in love with. Did you get that? Oh, and this is a shorter chapter mostly featuring Paul. So here we go, chapter three!**

Doctor Robert was nowhere in the Cavern Club, nor was he outside of it. I was starting to get a little bit worried, to tell you the truth. The sooner we could find Pop, the sooner I could get back home. I wonder what it was he wanted from me.

"He's a nowhere man!" John shouted from behind me. He was just consulting the bartender, and now he was shooting frustrated looks in every direction. On one hand, I was relieved that he was looking so hard for him, while the other guys were just lazing around. On the other, hand, why did he want me out of here so badly? He was acting as though I had personally wronged him, which I sort of had, but he had asked for it! And it was in his favor, anyways, so why was he so mad? This meant he could save himself from being shot to death. You would think he would at least be a little more grateful.

John strode swiftly over to where I was sitting in between Ringo and Paul at the bar, pointing at me. "He's YOUR grandfather, you should know where he is!"

I rolled my eyes openly, and the boys chuckled. "Yeah, stupid, I do know where he is. I have Grandfather Radar, did I forget to tell you?" Then I sighed, swinging my legs against the barstool. "And why do you have to blame everything on me? I didn't tell him to ask for you to bring me back to this hell hole." I was starting to regret having told the guys that Doctor Robert was my grandpa; it was seriously more trouble than it had to be.

"You better watch your mouth, little girl," John threatened, shaking his head menacingly.

"Aye," Paul chuckled, leaning his arms against the bar, "John's been known to make a swing at a few birds." John's face darkened, and he punched Paul in the arm. Paul just laughed and pushed him back playfully, making John mutter something under his breath and stalk away. Once he was gone, Paul cradled his arm and rubbed the spot where John had hit him, wincing lightly. "Damn," he mumbled, shaking his head.

I looked at Ringo, who just laughed and shrugged. "Oh, it's a love/hate relationship with those two. They love to hate each other." I thought it funny that he was saying this of Lennon/McCartney, one of the greatest song writing duos in history.

Just as he was saying this, the tall, black haired woman with the raspy voice sauntered over to Paul, falling onto his lap with a giggle.

"Oh, Paulie, will a kiss make it better?" She leaned down and kissed his arm, looking up at him through her eyelashes. That was sickening. Girls look like damn fools when they did that, just like the throwing their head back to laugh thing. No one _naturally _did that!

I snorted at her ridiculousness, and she looked over at me. She sized me up, and for the first time I glanced down at what I was wearing. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't wearing the same shorts and a tank top I was wearing when I had met the Beatles, but I was wearing something much more era-appropriate: a shortish leather skirt, a sleeveless dark red shirt tucked into it, and tall leather boots. I had no idea where these clothes came from, but I thought I looked quite Liverpool-chic. Apparently the girl in the slinky black dress didn't think so.

"Who are you?" the girl asked blatantly, leaning forward to peer at me and still on Paul's lap. I wanted to smack this bitch.

I opened my mouth to retort something nasty, but probably seeing my expression, Paul cut in. "Rita, this is A.J., A.J., this is the lovely Rita." Lovely? More like revolting. This was the girl that song was about? You have GOT to be kidding me.

"A.J.? That's such a foul name!" She laughed shrilly, looking at Paul for back-up. He looked quite uncomfortable.

"You think? Well, then maybe it should be your name, if it suits you so much." I sneered, making Ringo snort into his beer. Paul widened his eyes behind Rita's back, mouthing, 'Be nice!'

Rita's mouth dropped open, and I could tell she was searching for something clever to say back to me. I raised my eyebrows. "Would you please close your mouth? I wouldn't say anything, but your breath smells like rotting road kill."

She gasped, snapping her jaw closed. Beside me, Ringo's shoulders shook with laughter, and even Paul was fighting a smile. "Paul!" she whined, bouncing on his lap. "Make her go away!"

Paul frowned at the dim-witted girl. "Why would I do that?" he asked, confused.

Rita pouted for a moment, then slid off Paul's lap. "Fine. Then it's me, or her." She put her hands on her hips, twisting her mouth defiantly. What a dumbass.

Paul looked from her, to me, and then back again. "Her," he said simply, taking a calm sip of beer. She stared blankly at him, until it finally caught on that that was all he had to say.

"Well, fine, then. I'll just leave." She didn't move a muscle, still staring at Paul. He turned away from her, nodding towards the bartender for another drink.

He turned around again with his drink, and looked surprised when he saw she was still standing there. "You're still here? I thought you were leaving."

Rita looked close to tears. "You're such an asshole, Paul McCartney!"

WHAT?! Now she had crossed a line. I loved the Beatles themselves just as much as I loved their music. Paul was not, in fact, an asshole. That would be John. "Um, 'lovely' Rita? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that he wants you gone. And calling him an asshole is not going to change his mind." I waggled my fingers at the foolish girl. "So buh-bye."

Rita stomped her foot, then spun on her heel and bolted out of the club. Paul chuckled appreciatively at my smirk. "Nice one. I've been trying to get rid of that crazy bird for a few weeks now."

I gave him a skeptical look. "Really. And you were doing that by introducing her to people as Lovely Rita and making a song with her name, right?"

Paul looked muddled again. "A song? I wasn't aware of this." Oops, I forgot, that one didn't come til Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band! "That's not a bad idea. I'll talk to John about it, though. He's much better with names than I am. They always seem to get madder at me…." He trailed off, muttering about some girl who had beat him with a pool stick.

I had to be really careful of what I said from now on. Even the slightest thing could throw them off course by now. I took a deep breath, then turned to Ringo, who was staring out into the crowd with a light grin on his face. I followed his gaze, seeing George sprinting as best he could through the mob of people, frequently looking over his shoulder.

"What's he running from?" I asked Ringo, leaning in and whispering in his ear. He jumped a little bit, then looked down at me and chuckled light-heartedly.

"Ah, Georgie's got an admirer." He nodded to a slightly eccentrically dressed woman, probably in her early twenties, who was scanning the crowd, completely ignoring the odd looks that the rest of the people were giving her. "She's been after him for a while now."

"What's her name?" Names had always been important to me. In my mind, your name said a lot about you. For instance, I would never go near a person named Spike…or Jim Bob.

"Pam," Ringo whispered as she came closer, "but everybody around here calls her Polythene Pam. She eats the stuff." I raised one eyebrow at her as she came nearer, probably going to ask Ringo if he had seen George, but she backed off when she saw my foreboding gesture.

Ringo chortled beside me. "You're a mean little girl, aren't you?"

Why did they keep calling me that? Not mean, because I knew well enough that that was true. But I wasn't a little girl! I was eighteen freaking years old!

"I'm not little," I grumbled, crossing my arms. He scoffed, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm not!"

He took another sip of his beer, shaking his head. "Yeah, and you're stubborn, too."

Grrr, if he didn't watch it, I was going to go Brittney Spears on his ass. And by that didn't mean shave my hair off, because that was old. Brittney is kind of a bad-ass. "Please." I waved him off with my hand.

"Well, you're no more than 5'2'', maybe ninety pounds, and you think you're some immovable force." He chuckled again, making me even angrier.

"For your information, I am exactly ninety-seven pounds, and I'm working on it." I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling insecure. I looked away from him, searching the sea of people again for George and Pam.

Ringo sighed, reaching over and turning my face with two finger tips. "A.J., stop worrying. I was only kidding," he said gently, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger.

Why was it that he just seemed so much…older than me? Like I was some silly little girl or something. He wasn't THAT much older than me…three or four years if I remembered correctly. It certainly wasn't that he LOOKED so much older. I mean, everybody is tall compared to me, but Ringo had to be at a maximum 5'8'', when all the other Beatles were around 5'11''. If I wanted a good comeback, I would have said something about HIM not worrying about it, but I couldn't be malicious to Ringo Starr. He was just the kind of person that you COULDN'T be mean to.

"If it's able to be taken the wrong way, don't say it. That's my motto. Unless you INTEND for it to be taken the wrong way. Then by all means, go ahead." I refocused my dark blue eyes back on his light ones, trying to act like I wasn't self-conscious still.

He laughed lightly, but he didn't seem to be buying it. Maybe that's what I liked so much about him; you could say whatever you wanted, and he wouldn't say anything, but we could both know in silence that it was a load of crap.

It was when Ringo turned around to order another beer that I saw her. She was roughly a year old, bare-foot, with wild, curly brown hair and a face full of freckles. She waddled through the throng of people, her scarlet lips wide open and loud giggles issuing from them. Women stopped and awwwwwed as she passed, but no one made any move to stop her. Apparently I was the only one who saw all the potential danger that she was in, so I leapt from my stool and rescued her.

"Well, hello, there," I chirped in my little kid voice as I scooped her up. The girl looked up at me, and I found that she had narrow, navy blue eyes. Very familiar eyes…. "What's your name?"

"Jeanie," she squeaked, widening her eyes as I sat back down next to Ringo. She spoke in a light Irish accent, and I wasn't sure how well she could speak.

"Well, hi, Jeanie," Ringo said kindly, leaning in and waving at her. "My name's Ringo. Ringo Starr. I play-"

"I know who you are," Jeanie interrupted. We looked down at her in surprise, and she blushed a little bit. I guess she was a little bit older than one. She was just really small for her age. "You play for the Beatles. You're the new drummer."

I loved how the little girl wasn't asking this, just stating it, as though it was a plain fact. She looked at me. "What's your name?"

I hesitated. If I started telling people who I was, would it affect anything back in the future? Wait…. "My name's A.J."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied. "I like that name. I know a boy named Alan Jr., but we call him A.J. I like it for a girl." That was…weird. Normally people gave me all kinds of looks until I explained that it was Anna Jean.

It should have been obvious to me right there, but it took me until Ringo asked who and where her mother was. "I'm hiding," Jeanie giggled. "She doesn't ever come in here, and that's why I came in."

Ringo and I exchanged a look. "Why no-"

"JEANIE?! JEANIE FITZPATRICK YOU GET YOUR SCRAWNY ARSE OVER HERE!"

The people nearest to the door turned to look, laughing as they saw the woman who had just shouted. She was no bigger than me, but I could tell even from here how fiery she was. She marched over to us, making her daughter shrink.

"Uh-oh. Mam's found me," Jeanie whimpered, hiding her face in my shoulder. Ringo's laugh boomed around us.

"Jean Margret, you can never scare me like that again! It is nearly three in the morning, and you should not be running around like this! Do you know what could happen?" She snatched the girl off my lap. Looking up at me for the first time, then faltering. "Do I know you?"

_No, but you will_, I thought fervently, begging her to look me straight in the eye. It was so strange seeing her like this, maybe a year or two older than myself, with my mother as a baby in her hands. But I didn't understand two things; my mother's maiden was Ryan, because Doctor Robert was her father, and speaking of the Doc, where was Pop?

**Soooo, where is the good Doctor, and why did he abandon A.J. with the Beatles? I know why, but the only way you're going to find out is if you review!!! But I think the most important question is…why haven't YOU voted on my poll yet. And yes, I mean YOU (unless, of course, you've already voted…then I don't mean YOU). So, you've had your daily dose of Beatles drama, but if it's some Beatles funny you're craving, check out I Me Mine, a collaboration with Flippzy-gurl and Sweeneysbestfriend. Had to throw that in there because I maybe might have used a character from their story (Polythene Pam) and I have to give credit where credit is due. THANKS!!!!**


	4. Hold Me Tight

**I am so horrible. I was supposed to 'evenly disperse' this (that's the exact wording in my mental plan) story over a few weeks, just to get it out there before I started on the good stuff. Unfortunately, I went review crazy and just wanted to put all four finished chapters online. After this chapter, the updates will be coming WAY slower. And also, after this chapter, A.J. will have met all four of the guys, thus beginning the whole romance aspect. But not to worry, it won't be all that. Because I think a complete romance is actually quite boring. I don't think I have anything else to ramble on about so…here's chapter four!**

Jeanie's mother continued to stare at me, her eyes flitting around my features, but never making it quite to my eyes. If she would, she would immediately recognize that I had the same exact ones as her daughter did. I knew she would never make the connection, but still.

"I must have met you before…" she mumbled, tucking a squirming Jeanie more tightly into her chest. "You look so familiar."

Ringo narrowed his eyes at the woman, but didn't say anything. Clearly, he thought she was off her rocker. He knew why she wouldn't know me…at least, not in this decade. I wondered if he knew who she was yet.

"I don't think so. I'm from America." I explained. She flinched at the harshness of my inflection compared to the softness of hers. I wish that Mom had handed down a bit of the light accent that she still retained.

She cocked her head, reaching out and fingering one of the corkscrews that was popping out of my head. She smiled distantly. "Huh. You remind me so much of the old country. You have an Irish look about you, America."

That was the honest to God truth. I was one hundred percent Irish, and I got lots of comments like that over the years, especially when I was growing up and was a freckly mess. "Well, my mom was born there, and my dad's parents were immigrants."

She nodded, still in a daze. It was silent for a moment, until Ringo cleared his throat awkwardly. This made her jump, and she looked like she had finally snapped out of it. She laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not usually like that. I just…never mind." She slapped a hand on her forehead. "Where are my manners? Thank you so much for saving my daughter. She's mature for a two year old, and likes to play hide-and-go-seek."

I smiled graciously. "Oh, really, it was no problem. My name is A.J. by the way."

"Maggie Mae." Jeanie twisted in her arms again, turning around to have a good look at us. She giggled at something behind my back, and I turned around to see Ringo making a silly face. He blushed when he saw me looking, immediately dropping the look.

"Nice to meet you." I nodded at her. Ringo nudged me discreetly in the back, so I introduced him, too. "Oh, and this is Ringo Starr. Er, I mean Richard Starkey. He's the drummer from-"

"I know who he is," Maggie Mae cut in. Now I knew where her daughter knew this. But from the look on her face, Maggie was anything but a fan. "John Lennon still with ye?" This was directed to Ringo.

He looked confused at her hostile stare, but he went on anyways. "Well, yeah. I mean, I only joined up a little while ago. I could introduce ya if you'd like."

"I don't need an introduction, thank you very much," Maggie Mae sneered. The atmosphere was suddenly charged, and we could feel the Irish woman's anger all around us. See, I wasn't the only one that didn't like John. Even Joanie was scowling into the crowd.

Abruptly, Jeanie's mood changed. She started wiggling excitedly, waving her fat little hands wildly. I turned to see who she was greeting, and I found a disgruntled George standing next to Ringo's stool, his face a bit flushed.

"Maggie Mae, Jeanie, what are you two doing here?" His tone was intense, and, unlike Joanie, he did not seem happy to see them here at all.

Maggie sighed, fanning herself a bit with her hand. "Jeanie decided to play a game. She knew that the Club was a place Mammy didn't like to go." She ruffled Jeanie's locks a bit, way calmed down.

"You know if John sees you in here, he'll be really upset. We don't want another episode." Why was sweet George being so…mean? Wasn't he supposed to be the nice one?

Maggie Mae gave a weak grin. "No, no we don't. It would be better if Paul didn't-"

At the mention of his name, Paul turned around. In truth, I had forgotten he was there. He was talking to two new girls, both of whom seemed totally enraptured. I didn't know how long they had been there, and I wondered why he hadn't looked like the rest of the people in the place when Maggie had stormed over here. Apparently, he had extreme focusing skills.

"Paulie!" Jeanie squealed, reaching her arms out to the boy. His big eyes immediately went to her, and he allowed a brief smile. Then, his eyes traveled up to Maggie Mae. They hardened instantly.

"Paul, I-" Maggie started, but Paul had more important thoughts.

"You should go," he said quietly. They stared at each other for a moment, and finally Maggie looked back to me with a resigned groan.

"I'm sorry, A.J. Seems I'm no more welcome here than I was last year. Til we meet again!" she called over her shoulder, toting Jeanie away. The little girl stared over the woman's shoulder, waving at us. At the same time, all four of us waved back.

As soon as they were gone, the atmosphere was almost unbearably tense. I peeked a look at Ringo, but he looked just as puzzled as I felt. Finally, I allowed myself to look at Paul. He nearly gave me a heart attack when I found that he was staring straight at me.

"A word, all of you?" he whispered in a deadly low voice. It gave me chills down my spine.

Wordlessly, we followed him back into the room that I had started my night in Liverpool in. He shut the door, then made his way over to a chair, sitting down and rubbing his temples. When he looked up, his eyes were troubled.

"Will somebody explain to me why she was here?"

I exchanged another look with Ringo, and was relieved that he too still seemed to be on the same page as me.

"That little girl, Jeanie, was running around, so A.J. rescued her and brought her back to the bar so she wouldn't get trampled," Ringo remembered. "How do you know the Irish bird?"

Paul hesitated, glancing at George. George turned to me, clearing his throat. "What we're going to tell you right now is EXTREMELY classified. You are not to tell this to anybody. And you will NOT mention anything about Maggie Mae OR Jeanie to John. That goes for you, too, Rings. Is that understood?"

We both nodded, and suddenly I got a bad feeling in my stomach. I didn't think I wanted to hear this. Was my grandmother the song inspiration for Maggie Mae? I really hoped you wasn't, because as much as I could believe that, I didn't want it to be true.

"Maggie Mae Fitzpatrick is a girl we met about three years ago. She was just leaving Ireland, and she was only eighteen years old. We found her on the road, just coming back from Germany. Naturally, being the good, kind-hearted people we were…ahem, are…we took her in. Things heated up between John and her, and they had this sort of relationship thing going. Well, I don't know exactly what happened, but the next thing we know, Maggie's pregnant and it's not John's baby. She told him after a concert one night, and he blew up. It was bad, one of the worst I've seen with John. He told her to get the hell out, and to never come back. Heaven knows what she does now, but I hear she's got the quickest hands in England, and she's pretty well off. She's a little sneak, Fitz is."

Paul finished his speech, confirming my fears. Well, not the whole being pregnant thing, but everything else. I had no idea what to say. You just don't want to think of your grandmother as a sneak that the Beatles nicknamed 'Fitz'. It's just not right, you know?

Ringo frowned, clearly thinking this over. "Why was John so mad? I mean, they can't have been together for too long, if everything happened in the last three years. He doesn't usually get too hung up on birds, anyways, does he?"

"John said that he reckoned she was The One. He said that he could imagine his whole life with her, and he would never look back if he did marry 'er. In short, he was mad in love." I looked to George, and he confirmed this with a slight dip of his head, his thick black hair falling into his eyes.

John Lennon could have been my grandfather. But then again, it was probably better that he wasn't, seeing as I hated him and all. Still though, it was rather shocking news. I closed my eyes, shaking my head slightly. So she wasn't married to Robert yet; she had cheated on John with him. You know, I would have found my grandma so much more interesting if she had told me stories about frolicking with my idols instead of just going on and on about 'the old country'.

"That's some deep shit right there," I finally mumbled, opening my eyes. All three of them cast amused glanced my way. "What?"

"Ah, silly A.J., nothing. What I'm wondering most is how you two know Jeanie, and how she seems to know exactly who you are, too." Ringo had a point. I hadn't been listening so much to the Beatles side of the story as I was to my family's part.

George immediately blushed a deep red. "I…I babysit sometimes for her. But that's only when I REALLY need the money, and it can only be when John's gonna be away for a long time. Used to be Paul, too, but then it just got too difficult so I told him about it. Jeanie loves us to death, and I don't think Maggie trusts too many other people." He looked down at his shoes.

Can I just say? AWWWWW! That was so cute! THAT was the George Harrison that I always thought I knew. And how adorable that Paul helped, too! George looked down at me sheepishly, and I gave him my most proud look. "That's so sweet!"

Both currently ashamed boys looked at me in surprise. Why was it so weird that I thought them cute for that? Didn't all girls like when guys showed their sensitive side? Or was that a new millennium thing? Seriously, what was wrong with the girls from the sixties. They somehow thought that boys with more grease in their hair than there was in bacon were hot, but a sweet boy was weird. This was clearly a screwed up generation.

"Er…why?" Paul wanted to know, awkwardly rubbing his burning face.

"Just because, you know, John didn't-doesn't-like her, but you still helped her out. So what if it's for money? It's the thought that counts." They still stared at me funny, so I just shrugged. "The girls I know would eat that shit up."

George smiled, shaking his head. "You do have quite the pottymouth, you know. A girl-"

"So now you wanna get sexist?" I cut in, raising my eyebrows and making my best 'Nuh-uh, oh-no-you-didn't' face. George put his hands up and backed up, making Paul chuckle in appreciation.

"You really aren't like other girls, A.J." He shook his head, but more in wonderment than in shock. I basked in the glow of his happy grin, and stood up a little straighter. I don't know if that was meant to be a compliment, but I sure as hell was going to take it as one.

Suddenly, we heard footsteps outside the door. Someone knocked sharply, and a frustrated and tired John stomped in.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you four!" he yelled, running a hand through his thick hair. Seeing him, I suddenly felt a surge of exhaustion, and I found that I was almost too tired for my legs. I staggered a bit, surprised at my sudden tiredness, and fell into George.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, grabbing me and steadying me quickly. My skin felt hot where he had touched me, and if I wasn't so tired I would have been blushing times a trillion.

Paul studied me for a moment, then turned to John. "What time is it, anyways?"

John shook his head frustratedly. "Too late to pick up a girl."

"That late?"

"Oh, shut up," George muttered, "we've already got a girl. And speaking of sleeping with birds, where's this one gonna go?" I started to lean on the spot a little bit, my eyes drooping. George put his hands on my arms, holding me in place. I was at the point where I couldn't even process what they were saying anymore, instead just hearing words and alternating voices.

"Well, obviously we're gonna have to take her back to our place," Ringo said, and I could just make out him glaring at John.

"The girl can hardly stand! How do we expect to bring her back?" John asked, his tone cold.

I sort of heard someone say something, then felt George's hands leave me for a moment. I began to panic, thinking that I would fall right over, when I felt another pair of big, strong hands steady me. Then, I was scooped up into someone's arms, as easily as I had lifted Jeanie earlier. Slightly scared, I tried to pry my eyes open enough to see who was holding me.

Paul winked at me. "I won't drop ya. You're as light as a feather."

I groaned, not able to hold my head up anymore, but REALLY not wanting to put my head onto his shoulder. But, eventually, I gave up, nestling my head in the warm hallow between his shoulder and his neck. I heard the boys laugh at me, but at this point I didn't care about anything but sleeping.

"Fine, but she's not sleeping in my bed," came John's indignant voice. Even in my semi-asleep state, I still wanted to throttle him. Yes, I said throttle.

I don't remember a thing past that, and I must have been SO out of it. I woke up feeing pissed, because John Lennon had broken his promise; I was definitely NOT in my own bed.

**Believe it or not, there was a purpose to this chapter other than telling a story about John's ex-girlfriend. I really wanted to introduce all the boys, so that A.J. (along with you) could get to know them on a personal level. I may have failed in re-creating them, so don't be to mean if you want to get that message across to me (cough, cough, REVIEW, cough). The next chapter won't be for a while, because while I was editing these four chapters I completely abandoned the other three stories I'm writing at the moment. So, REVIEW, and the number of reviews I get for this chapter will determine the rate at which I get my lazy butt moving and write another chapter. Get ready…get set…and REVIEW!!!**


	5. I'm Only Sleeping

**I really, really shouldn't be writing this right now. I can think of a MILLION other things that I really should be doing, and this isn't one of them. But I can't help it! No, seriously, my computer has been STARING at me for, what?, like ten days? And okay, that is NOT a lot…not at ALL. But I don't know what to do besides start another chapter. I literally CAN NOT sleep. Yes, it has really been that bad. I had every intention of updating my other stories in my time off, but I found that I hate them all and think they're stupid (okay, I don't really thing that, but my Beatles section of my mind was telling me that). I tried, I really, really did, but I couldn't stay away…haha, doesn't that sound like it should be a line for Twilight or something? Or is it…? **

**Anyways, I'm getting VERY off-subject here, I would like to tell you that *gasp* I think A.J. is developing a crush. Actually, I really don't know if that'll start to show in this chapter, but I want it to. We'll just see where my fingers take us, shall we (okay, pervs, stop laughing!)? I really shouldn't be saying anything, because I was snickering even as I thought it)? Okay, without further ado, chapter five!**

_Ugh, I don't want to be up! But, if I HAVE to…God I hate waking up. Now I have to go take a shower, eat, get ready for school…. What the hell? Why do I have to do this? Why can't I just forget about it all for one day…?_

I slowly pried my still heavy eyes open, blinking warily and rolling onto my back. That was when I realized that I was NOT in my own bed.

I bolted straight up, glancing around me and instinctively pulling the covers up around me at the sudden rush of cold. The door and curtains were closed, and the room was still dark. I had absolutely no idea where I was. Maybe I was still dreaming…? Then it all came back to me. The Beatles, going back in time, the Cavern Club, Liverpool. But how had I ended up here, in this mystery bed? The last thing I remember was standing in that back room…with George steadying me as I swayed with tiredness…and then Paul picking me up…and then- OH, MY GOD I FELL ASLEEP IN FREAKING PAUL MCCARTNEY'S ARMS!!!

I ran my hands over my face, sure that is was five shades darker red than usual. How had I not preserved that perfectly in my memory? That was one memory I wanted to keep forever and ever, even though this was all probably just a hallucination and not really happening.

That brought me right back here, lying in someone else's sheets and someone else's bedroom. I took a deep, shaky breath, still a little bit asleep, and tried to gather my thoughts. Should I just bust out of here, or should I sneak out? Either way, I had to leave where ever I was and find Doctor Robert so that I could get home. Making up my mind, I crawled out of bed and tip-toed to the door. I eased it open just a crack, then put my ear to it.

Outside, I could hear a bunch of voices, though I couldn't be sure how many people there were since they were all talking over each other.

"I say we take her with us! That'll keep some of the girls away, won't it?" More clashing of voices, then:

"Nah, we can't. If we take her and even MORE people see her with us, they're bound to get suspicious. I mean, you should have seen the number of looks we were getting with the stunt Paulie pulled last night."

"How did you except her to get back? She was asleep where she stood! And who did you think was going to be a gentleman there, eh? Not Georgie, his arms are almost as skinny as hers!"

I smirked a little bit, thinking about young, thin, handsome George Harrison, and how at this age he was rather scrawny. But in his defense, he was just a teenager. He still had a bit of growing to do.

"Shut it, Macca! I could carry her where ever I wanted!"

"Stop! We need to figure this out! What are we gonna do with her today? After all, John did promise her that she would be home this morning…."

"Ah, John, you and your promises that you can't keep."

"SHUT UP!"

I heard a scurrying of footsteps, some low chuckling, and then voices getting closer. I dove back into bed, tugging the covers as far up as they would go. The door opened all the way, and I was suddenly aware of the presence of two new people.

"You reckon she's still sleeping, Rings?" John whispered, and I felt the end of the bed creak. I was always horrible at fake-sleeping, because as soon as a person started staring at me, I would be fighting a smile and they would know I was awake. I hid my face in my pillow before this could happen.

"Probably. She was up late for a little thing." It was quiet for a moment, and I realized they were most likely staring at me. I was SO uncomfortable, and I badly wanted to move, but I didn't want to let them know that I was faking.

I heard a light sigh from somewhere near where I thought John was. "She's pretty, though. Hard headed and bitter, but I've never seen a bird the likes of her. You know, she kinda looks like-"

He stopped abruptly. I wondered if Ringo thought that he was about to mention Jeanie like I thought he was, but I guess I wouldn't know unless I looked up into his eyes. He really did have some gorgeous eyes.

"Richie?" John's voice was suddenly soft, and it made my stomach give an uneasy turn. I was sort of afraid of what he might say next, as it was probably something I really didn't want to hear.

"Mmm?"

"How do you think it happens?" His tone was layered with sudden anguish, and I was surprised to hear it. It wasn't that I thought John incapable of human emotion, it was just that I never thought he would let other people see it. Any emotion, of course, besides anger. That he was quiet good at. Maybe the Beatles were much closer than I thought. I knew that everyone said they were like brothers, but were they really like together? You know, the people that nobody ever got to see. I imagine they would be quite different once they were away from the media and even their band mates.

"How do I think what happens?" Ringo sounded hesitant, as though he knew exactly what John was asking him but he didn't want to answer him.

"How do you think I die?" The words were spoken with such simple complexity that I couldn't believe they had come out of John Lennon's mouth. Wasn't he a man of love, peace, and life? Would I ever get to see the true interworkings of the musical icon's mind? Did I want to?

Ringo breathed out sharply, the force of what John said hitting him as powerfully as it hit me. "God, I don't know mate. After all, it's a long ways away. You gotta lot of life to live til then."

I felt John shake his head. "Not really. I'll only be forty. I feel like…I feel like I have a time limit, you know? That I gotta do a certain amount of things before it runs up. I hate feeling like that."

Ringo was quiet. I made absolutely sure that my breathing was steady, though my heart was racing and beating at irregular intervals. I couldn't believe I had caused him so much pain! I was such a bitch!

"Ask her how it happens," Ringo suggested. His voice was weak, saddened, and it sounded like it had took a lot of effort to get that much out at the same time. What had I done?!

"I…I can't."

That surprised me. Why couldn't he? I mean, I would tell him. As much as I knew I shouldn't, I still would. Apparently, Ringo was thinking along the same lines as me. "I don't see why not."

I wanted so badly to open my eyes and look at John, if only to see that I wasn't as cruel as I was thinking right then. But I knew that if I did, I would just be disappointed. "She doesn't like me very much, if you haven't noticed."

Ringo chuckled a little bit. "I don't blame her! You were a bloody ass to her!"

There was a deadly silence from John, and I was scared for Ringo for a second. Then he sighed. "Yeah, yeah. But she had it coming! If she wasn't so…so cynical and stubborn, then maybe she would get along with people…."

I could practically hear Ringo roll his eyes. "Please, John. She's the female version of you."

"What? No!"

Ringo laughed again. "You know what I think?"

"No, and I don't care."

"I think that you have a crush on her." I smiled into my pillow at Ringo's teasing tone. That would be hilariously impossible. John and me? HA! We'd kill each other!

"No," John insisted. "I really never thought of her that way. Even thinking about it…ugh! It's like…it's like she's some distant relative or something; I can think she's as pretty as I want, but thinking about BEING with her…that makes me want to throw up a little bit." And just like that, my smile had vanished. Throw up a little bit? Really? Was that really necessary?

"Sure," Ringo sang, "sure, I believe you."

"No, I'm serious, I don't." John sounded a little testy.

"Okay."

"I _don't_."

"Okay."

"I DON'T."

"Okay."

"I DON'T!!!"

"Okay."

"**I DON'T!!!"**

This was the point where I figured any normal human being would have woken up. And God! It felt so good to move out of the position I was in. I rolled over onto my back, slowly re-opening my eyes. I faked a yawn, stretching my arms over my head, then sat up, tucking the covers around my front. John was still perched on the end of my bed, but Ringo was standing on the other side, his arms crossed. Light was now flooding in through the open door, but I didn't take the time to look around the room.

"What the HELL?"

John and Ringo looked at each other, then looked back at me. "Er, good morning to you, too."

"Well?" When John didn't say anything, I decided to make the situation even more uncomfortable then it already was. "What don't you?"

John immediately blushed scarlet, leaping from the bed and backtracking towards the door. "Uh, I was, um, talking to Richie about, you know, something…and, uh, I…gotta go…do something with, uhhh, Paul, I guess." And then he was gone.

Ringo looked at me at the exact same time I looked at him, and we burst out laughing. He probably knew that I wasn't sleeping the entire time, or at least for the last part, but I recounted what I had realized last night about him; you just didn't need to say everything. The best things seemed to go unsaid. I felt a dull heat in my cheeks, and I glanced down at the bed. When I looked back up, he was still looking at me, the ghost of his smile still etched on his face, his eyes distant.

I cleared my throat casually, sliding out of bed and looking down at myself for the first time all morning. I was still wearing the sleeveless red blouse (who even says blouse anymore?), and the short leather skirt was pulled up a little too far. I blushed a little bit, straightening out and hoping Ringo didn't see, before I started looking around for a mirror. There was one right across the room, and I looked into it to see that my light brown curls were tangled in a mess. I strode over to the dresser, spotting a rubber band, and pulled my ringlets up into a messy bun on the top of my head. Then I looked back at Ringo, my stomach rumbling.

He snapped to attention, his eyes refocusing on me, and his smiled zipped back to life. "You want something to eat?" he asked, already heading for the door. I grinned gratefully.

"I thought you'd never ask."

**This chapter took me five days to write, from start to finish. Usually I can do one in one sitting, but I had the week from hell and that was nearly impossible. I know it's not the best, but hopefully it cleared up some of what John's feeling. Next chapter, I think, is going to be about George. I really miss him, don't you? There can never be enough George to go around, and I'm SO sorry if you feel that my story has been lacking that certain element. I've always been a Paul girl, and recently I read a story that made me want to know all about George, because I feel out of all of them he gets the least recognition. Google him up, I'm telling you, you'll be surprised. And now that I'm done advertising George Harrison, I will be shutting up and leaving you for this time with one last request: REVIEW!!!!!**


	6. Do You Want To Know a Secret

**Don't kill me, but this chapter might not be one hundred percent historically accurate. I know, I know! That is one of the three major Don'ts when writing a serious (and yes, I do consider my fic to be quite serious) Beatles fanfiction. The other two being don't confuse their names and don't hate on the hair…beards, go ahead, because those were fugly (haha Flippzy-gurl). But I would NEVER commit the other two crimes, so maybe it's excusable for this time…? Oh, and by the way, my poll is still up. I know I've decided, but I'm still gonna post the result (right now the leader is kinda surprising) once I feel that everybody who's gonna vote has voted. Okay? So, with that, here is my promised George chapter!**

"Brian, this is A.J. A.J., Brian."

My introduction to Brian Epstein was short and to the point, and much like the man himself. As soon as John had told him who I was, he stalked off, dragging Paul along with him. Paul glanced over his shoulder, giving me a wistful wink, before continuing along inside of the studio.

Brian looked quite alarmed, glancing from me to Ringo to George to the door of the studio and then right back to me. When no one offered him any information, he sighed, putting a hand on one hip. "Which one of you did it?"

"Did what?" Ringo asked innocently. "She came on to us!"

The manager's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. "Oh, relax," George lamented, shaking his head wearily. "It's nothing that you wouldn't expect from John." And with that, he too walked off and into the recording studio. Ringo nodded to me, then followed him.

"I'm so sorry for whatever they might have done. I'm always telling them to be more careful, but that damn John Lennon-"

"NO!" I stopped him, and he continued to look distressed at my tone. "No," I said again much calmer, "that's not what happened at all. But I don't think you'd believe me if I told you…which I'm not going to do."

Brian narrowed his eyes, observing me shrewdly. "Hmmmm," he hummed after a second. "You don't seem to be with child, quite the opposite, actually. And you look to be about George's age, so there can't be any problem with your daughter…no wedding band, so that rules that one out. Huh. It seems you've stumped me." He looked back into my eyes, and I could see some of the stress melting away. "And American, too! So humor me; where did the boys find a girl like you?"

It took me a moment to take all of that in, but once I had, I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my thoughts. To be honest, it sort of felt like meeting your boyfriend's mom for the first time. "Uh, America." No! Stupid, insolent girl! You weren't supposed to tell him that! Didn't we already discuss this before we came? _Brian_ _doesn't find out_!

However, he just ran a hand over his face tiredly. "Well, I can't honestly say that I'm too surprised. Don't tell me though, I think I'd rather not know." Shaking his head, he began to walk away, muttering under his breath. Glancing back and seeing me, he suddenly stopped, backtracking.

"You can go now," he mumbled, rubbing his temples. "This can be just another story you tell all your little girlies."

I didn't move, and for once, I didn't know what to say. When he saw this, he sighed. "Why aren't you gone?"

I cleared my throat unsteadily, figuring this was a direct question and I HAD to answer. "I don't have anywhere to go. You can thank Them for that one." I rolled my eyes a bit bitterly, and I thought I saw him smile hesitantly.

"Then you're staying at their place?"

It was amazing how fast he came to these conclusions. Actually, it was quite amusing. I wondered what the most interesting (and/or frustrating) situation the Beatles had ever gotten into…that Brian had had to bail them out of, of course. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I did last night."

He gave me a knowing nod, and the small smile that I thought had crept onto his sullen face disappeared. "Oh. Well, then I don't know what to tell y-"

"Don't act like you know me," I interrupted, cocking my hip and shifting my weight. I was kinda pissed, with him assuming that and all.

He glanced around uncomfortably. "Er…excuse me?"

"Yes, excuse you," I snapped, happy that my thoughts had cleared long enough for me to go into Attack Mode. "I have a lot of things going on right now, and I CERTAINLY don't need you all up in here ASSUMING shit about me. No, I'm not another one of the little bar-girls they pick up all the time, and I didn't sleep with any one of them. Actually, they practically BEGGED me to come back to this God forsaken place, so I would watch it, because I could leave any second, and I'm sure that the Beatles would NOT be very happy when they found out that you were the one that did it."

Brian's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at all. It might have been pretty funny, but I was WAY too pissed to notice. I shook my head in disgust, sauntering off toward where the boys had entered the studio, leaving a shaken Brian Epstein in my stormy wake.

When I entered the Abbey Road studio, all four boys looked up at me. I must have been quite the sight, now that I think about it. I shook my head, muttering under my breath and striding over to an empty chair. Paul and George exchanged a look, and George put down his guitar and walked across the room to sit next to me.

"So, I take it you enjoy Brian about as much as we do?" He smiled shyly, looking down at his feet. The rest of the Beatles took their famous places; Ringo behind the drum set, Paul with his bass, John and his guitar right up front. They space between Paul and John looked so empty without George standing there, plucking away on his guitar.

"I don't like people who think they know things without asking." I didn't say what I wanted to, which was that in a few years all four of the boys would be saying how much they owed Brian Epstein and how much they loved him. But right now they could resent him all they wanted.

George nodded. "Yeah. But we gotta deal with it. If what you said is true, then it'll pay off in the end." He stared off out the window, smiling faintly. It struck me how…_wise_ he sounded.

"Hey, George?" I don't know why, but I was suddenly remembering last night, when Paul and George had told us about Jeanie and Maggie Mae. God, was that really last night? It seemed like a million years ago!

"Mm?"

"What's the real reason that you take care of Jeanie sometimes?" I looked straight at him, and though he wouldn't meet my gaze, his sallow cheeks reddened.

"Shhh," he finally hissed, taking a quick glimpse of John before turning back to me. "I don't understand."

I could tell by his face that he, in all actuality, DID understand. I bit my lip, staring right into his intense, dark brown eyes. "Don't give me that shit. You know John can't hear us." Automatically, we both glanced at John. His brow was furrowed, and he was plucking away on his guitar, as though searching for some unknown note.

George sighed, shaking his head. "I…I don't think you would understand." He looked down at his hands, which were twisting precariously in his lap. His already red cheeks darkened.

I don't know what I expected before. In truth, I hadn't really thought before I asked the question. But now that I knew George didn't want to tell me, I REALLY wanted to know. Funny how that works, isn't it? People just seem to thrive off of other's humiliation. Though I didn't want to embarrass George…but he was making this way more difficult than it had to be. God!

"Don't you even TRY to act all high and mighty! I am just as old as you, mister, and I can get everything that you say. And regardless of your opinion of my intellect, what in your life can be so complicated that you don't think I could possibly comprehend it?" I crossed my arms in triumph, and he slowly turned his head to face me again, a smile creeping onto his thin features.

"I don't doubt your intelligence." His eyes twinkled a little bit, and he was grinning full force now, as if I was totally amusing him. For some reason, that made me SO frustrated.

"Then why won't you tell me?" I gave him my evilest eye, but he just chuckled, looking down at his hands again. Suddenly, he looked back up at me.

"You know why I won't tell you? Because I don't even understand it myself." He took a deep breath, but he didn't take his eyes off mine.

I considered this new information. "Well…maybe I could help you." He looked doubtful, so I added, "If you tell me, I'll tell you a secret."

George held out his hand. "Deal." I picked up mine to shake it, but he slapped it down. Instead, he reached out, separating my pinky from the rest of my fingers, then wrapped his around it.

Uhhhh, tell me that I didn't just pinky-promise with George Harrison.

"Really, George? Really?" I giggled, because I literally had NOTHING else to say.

He nodded solemnly. "Anyone can break a stupid little handshake, but no one DARES break the Pinky Promise. It is a sacred ritual, and only the purest of heart can partake in it." His face was COMPLETELY straight the entire time, too. And I'm sitting there going 'Whhhaaaaaattttt?'

"Um, okay?" Then, at the same time, we both burst out laughing. And honestly? A good laugh was exactly what I needed. John, Paul, and Ringo looked over at us at the same time, and they all smiled and looked back down in sync, too. I wonder what they were thinking….

I tuned back into the sound of our harmonized laughter, and I found myself once again wondering what George's secret was. It had to be about Jeanie and Maggie Mae, but what…? My thoughts were flying as finally our laughter settled down, and my abs aching as though I had just done a hundred sit-ups.

"Haha, Harrison, you're still not getting out of this one." My comment brought him down a little bit from his Happy High, but he was still smiling as he began to nod his head.

"Yeah, I did Pinky Promise." He hesitated a second, his smile fading slightly again.

"George. Just tell me. I can guarantee you that my secret is ten times better." I smiled gently, softening my ever-present stare.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, but never, ever is this to be repeated."

"Okay, okay," I said impatiently, waving my hand in the air to signal him to get a move on.

Another deep breath. "I think you should promi-"

"GEORGE!"

He put his hands up in uneasy surrender. "Fine." He closed his eyes and exhaled dramatically. "Maggie Mae lived with us for a pretty long time, and she and I became pretty close. I…well, I think I may be a little bit in love with her, but that is WAY beside the point. The fact is, I would lay down my life for that girl. So, when she cheated on John and got…you know…I didn't want to believe it; it was almost like I couldn't. I found where she was staying with her sister, and I asked her what REALLY happened. She said that it was John's baby, that she never cheated on him in the first place. She said she still loved him, but that it was too late to fix whatever twisted relationship they had. So, I helped her out a little bit, and the baby came, and she started to run out of options. I offered to help out with Jeanie, seeing as it WAS one of my best mate's kid, and I came to really like the brat. Then Paul found out, and you after that it was a mess. But Paul doesn't know that Jeanie really is John's daughter, and neither does John. Nor will he ever, if Maggie Mae has her way. So, you can NEVER tell this to anybody, future or present, because it would be bad news for John…and Jeanie, too. I don't know how he doesn't realize that she's his. I mean, she's practically his mini-me, except for the hair. I think it's in the eyes. She has eyes JUST like him, except brilliantly blue, like Maggie Mae's. Sort of like yours are."

By the time he finished, his words were ringing in my ears. John was Jeanie's father, and Jeanie was MY mother, making John my…. SHIT!!! No, this can NOT be happening to me! All those years…Grandma Ryan was LYING to me…lying to my mother. And to top it all off, I had John Lennon eyes. I DON'T WANT JOHN LENNON EYES!!!

"A.J., you Pinky Promised. What's your secret?" For a second he looked smug, then his face fell. "Are you alright?"

I looked up at him, my vision shaky. I could literally feel the blood draining from my face, and I felt like I was going to topple off my chair. I tried to steady myself, but my hands were trembling to badly to grip anything.

"A.J.?"

My eyes widened, and my eyelids started to flutter. Panic seeped into my skin as I tried desperately not to glance over at John, who was still frustratedly strumming his guitar. However, my mind took sudden control over my wandering eyes, and I forced myself to look back at George. He reached out and put a comforting hand on my arm, frowning and leaning in to have a better look at me.

"George…" I mumbled, feeling a strange need to tell him exactly what was going on. "He's…Maggie Mae…John…."

"A.J., you're scaring me. What's going on?"

I took a deep, evening breath. "Jeanie is my mother, George. So that makes John…that makes him my grandfather."

**Annnnnnnd CUT! Brilliant job, A.J. I could really FEEL that horror. Nice, now go get some water. Anywho, I stayed up super late just to get this chapter out to you, and I feel that it is one of my best. I just love George. I think that if I had a secret to tell and I had to tell any one of the Beatles, I would tell George. Or maybe Ringo, because he would be the least likely to write a song about it but, as George would say, that is WAY beside the point. So, John-fans, does this please you enough? I incorporated him in my story. He gets to be a grandpa, not that he knows it…YET! *insert evil maniacal laughing here* Sooooo, PLEASE review, and again, I'm sorry that I haven't been updating THAT quickly, but I would say that I got this one out pretty damn quick for the amount of stuff that I had to do this week. THANKS!!!**


	7. We Can Work It Out

**I'm soooooo happy that I'm finally letting myself update fast again. After those crazy few weeks, I have this weird period of free time that I thought I would never see again. Funny how that works, isn't it? Don't you think it would be MUCH easier if everything was all balanced out? I should take that up with Mr. P. Anyways, I'm gonna change things up a little bit for this chapter and make half of this in someone else's POV. I actually love my character because she is SO easy to write for (seeing as A.J. is practically me, add a few inches on her height and, unfortunately, take out meeting the Beatles) but I need this chapter to be as someone different, seeing as this very important side of the story is not A.J.'s to tell. And, yes, it has to do with John being a grandfather. Though, I must say, now that I look back, I wasn't being too original. All credit for the daughter idea goes out to Eliza March, whose story (Daddy's Girl) is SOOOO sweet…except Jeanie isn't really a main character. But, whatever, it is a little bit different, but I don't want Eliza March to think that I was stealing her idea. I would absolutely HATE if someone took my idea and didn't give me any form of credit for it. Thanks for being an amazing author Eliza! Now…you guys ready for an intense chapter? Ooookay…chapter seven!**

They played most of the day, ending the session at around three o'clock. I felt like I was literally living my dream. Except for this was a slightly deranged dream, where John was my biological grandfather and he hated me…not that it wasn't mutual. I found that the entire time I was watching them, my eyes kept wandering from the other three to John. Not that he looked at me once the entire time. Everywhere but me, in fact. I wondered if he could have possibly heard…? No, that was impossible.

Oddly enough, after I had gotten over the initial shock, I was strangely comfortable with the fact that John was related to me. I mean, it was still weird, but I had never thought of him in a way that you are NOT supposed to think of your grandpa. It's not like it directly affected me…well, sorta, but I was choosing not to think of it like that. I could survive, couldn't I? After all, I had been through a LOT worse.

I sighed heavily, watching them pack up their things. While they lingered on the other side of the room, I meandered over to the abandoned piano, which had remained unplayed the entire day. Sitting down at the bench, I ran my fingers over the smooth white keys, all the while glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching me. I had learned how to play the piano in fourth grade, wanting to play "Hey Jude" for the Talent Show. My mother, ever the musician, had taught me everything I knew. I guess she got that from her father….

I took a deep breath, not wanting to think about it for just a couple minutes. To just escape from my head, to flow along mindlessly with the soft melody of the notes. I closed my eyes, and, thinking no more, let my hands take me away.

I don't know what tune I started out playing, but I was sure it wasn't "Let It Be". That was what it turned into, however. It was an irresistible song, one that you just want to sing with all your heart. I started out just humming, then, forgetting that I was in a room with the Beatles themselves (I really do get lost in the music sometimes), I started to sing. I jumped about ten feet in the air when I heard a voice behind me.

"That's a nice tune-"

"AHHH!" I swung around, facing him, and started blushing furiously. "I'm sorry, Paul, you scared me."

He nodded, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Yeah…sorry."

"Why?"

"I screamed."

"It happens all the time." He waved a hand airily. "I'm used to the screaming by now."

"That's not why I screamed."

"Sure."

"You scared me!"

"So I've heard."

"Well…yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Paul shook his head with a light smile, his hair flopping around madly. He motioned for me to slide down the bench, which I did, and he sat next to me. "You seem pretty good at that."

"That?"

"Piano," he replied, gesturing to the keyboard. I flushed again, though I don't know why. It felt sort of natural to be sitting here on this bench with Paul McCartney, though it really shouldn't have. Didn't I have a HUGE crush on Paul? Yes, I realized, I had a crush on Paul. But that wasn't Paul, that was just the Paul that was in the Beatles. This was Paul McCartney, the person. And, I figured, that was why it was different. Could I DEVELOP a crush on him? Sure, why not? But right now, I didn't like him like that. I hardly even knew him, if I thought about it. I just knew _about _him.

"I learned a while ago."

"Me, too." He ran his fingers over the keys as I had done, relishing their smoothness, probably. That was my favorite part of the piano; the keys.

"Really?"

"No." He grinned down at the keyboard, then quickly glanced up at me. "Do you want to hear a song? I don't know much of it, but I've been working on it for a while."

I slowly nodded, not needing to say anything at all. He took a moment to find the right keys with his fingertips, and then pushed down, creating a chord. Then, he started into a familiar song, weaving in and out of the melody. It was _so _familiar, yet I couldn't put a name to it. Maybe something was different….

He ended the song, and I realized at once what it was. A light bulb popped over my head. "Here, Paul. Why don't you…."

I counseled him through it, and eventually we ended up with the full version of "Yesterday" that I was so accustomed to. Usually, this song was played on the guitar, but I had read somewhere that Paul had come up with it on piano. After reading that, I promptly bought the sheet music and learned the song. Lucky thing, too.

"You're really good at this," Paul commented after playing his new song in full for the first time. "You wouldn't happen to be a lyric writer, to, would you?"

I giggled lightly. "That, my friend, is where the talent stops. I can write stories, sure, but I never could write song lyrics."

"Oh, A.J., something tells me you're a girl of many talents." He smiled brightly down at me. God, what a cute smile he had.

"That would be stretching it," I admitted, looking down at my hands. "The only thing I really understand in my life is music. I can't see him to figure anything else out." I don't know why, but I felt like I could tell him these things. Like he would never judge me.

He nodded solemnly. "You don't know how much I can relate to that one." He looked like he was about to say something else, but changed his mind. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I think I'm gonna write a song about you. This song, as a matter of fact."

Uh-oh. Look what you did now, A.J.! Paul is going to name "Yesterday" something different, and then it won't be a classic! Wait…didn't that one come on in '65? So I had a little bit of time to persuade him to change it back. Wait! What was I saying?! That was three years from now (or then, or whatever. I have no idea what to call it)! I wasn't going to stay here that long! No, by the end of the day I would be with Doctor Ryan (I guess he was really no longer my grandpa) and have him get me outa here.

"Uh…really?"

"Yeah. But I'm terrible with the lyrics. That's always been John's field, honestly." He traced one of the black keys with his pointer finger absentmindedly.

How could I convince him not to do that, flattered as I was? "Well, it's kind of a sad song, don't you think?" I watched him carefully, trying to read his mind. A sudden smile dusted his child-like features.

"Well, Miss A.J., would I be wrong to assume that you've made quite a few people sad in your lifetime?" He grinned cockily, because I couldn't very well say 'no' to that one. Damn, him!

"I think the same goes for you, if you change 'people' to 'girls'. Would I be wrong to assume THAT one?" I retorted, smiling as he narrowed his eyes.

"You…I…." He didn't seem able to find the right words for a comeback.

"Exactly." I gloated, hoping he knew full well that this was an unsaid victory for me. "And by the way, it's your song. Don't ask John for help; you created this one all by yourself."

This, I knew, was what was going to happen in a few years, anyways. So maybe I had sped up the process a little bit. What's the difference? I just couldn't resist helping him out.

"I don't know…" he muttered, air-playing his new song over the keys. He seemed lost in it for a few seconds, and I thought I should probably leave, but just as I was thinking about getting up, he looked up at me. "You know, A.J., I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

But back then I didn't know how right he was.

~~*~~

"JEANIE!" I bellowed, plowing through the nearly packed club for what seemed like the millionth time this week, but was only really the second. "YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, GIRL!"

Some people glanced my way, and I was probably a humorous sight to see, but I paid them no mind. I wished, yet again, that I had grown a little bit taller in my lifetime, but so far none of the wanting had done me any good. I was still stuck at the same 5'1 ½'' I had graduated eighth grade with.

Through a gap in the crowd, I could just make out a mop-topped head, and immediately ducked down a little bit, praying that it was not John. That would make this whole situation ten times worse. Ever since I told Jeanie that we were not allowed in the Cavern Club, she had been trying to make a break towards it. Last night she happened to make it all the way in, a rare but serious feat. I don't know why she wanted to be here so bad. Damn that rebellious child. Then again, she could just feel that natural draw to it…to him.

Suddenly, I heard the tinkling sound of her laughter, and bolted in that direction, my head still down. With my eyes to the floor, I could just see the backs of her tiny feet disappearing in front me of me. I was way too scared to risk putting my head up, though the crowd would most definitely cover my minute frame if I did so.

Just as I had made up my mind to reach out and grab her, the crowd ran thin and I realized that I must have made it to the centrally located bar. I stooped and glanced around for any sign that she was still hiding about the adults, but she seemed to have vanished in thin air. Sighing, I straightened myself and reached an arm out to steady myself on the bar top, not even glancing at my intended target. Needless to say, it was not the bar I ended up touching.

"Hey!" the guy shrieked when I didn't immediately remove my palm from his chest. The truth was, I was WAY too terrified of the person that the voice belonged too. Hoping against all odds that I hadn't heard correctly, I slowly swiveled my head around. My worst fears were confirmed.

"I said, hey!" he repeated, swiping my hand off his body with the look of the utmost disgust. "I believe you lost this." He pointed to Jeanie, who was beaming up at me from the edge of his knees, making her chubby, freckled cheeks push against her eyes. She really did look just like him in the eyes. If only he would smile at me again like he used to….

I jolted myself out of my memories, scooping my daughter from his lap and slinging her onto my right arm. "Thank you," I said stiffly, totally unsure of what to say. He regarded me with that same loathing look.

Neither of us said anything. He was too busy glaring at me, daring me to say something else, and I was too busy being scared out of my mind. Not in front of my daughter, I chanted. Please don't say anything.

"So the bastard didn't even marry you?" he inquired, inclining his head towards Jeanie. Jeanie smiled back at him merrily. Great, that's nice John. Way to bring that up.

'No, you didn't' was what I felt like saying to him, but I knew that would only cause a whole other argument, and I didn't need that right now. "No, John. I don't know where he is."

"Serves you right," he sneered. "Are you ever gonna tell me who the son of a bitch was?"

I closed my eyes wearily, trying with all my might not to scream at him that he was the son of a bitch that he hated so much. But I would never tell him that. I COULD never tell him that…he wouldn't ever believe me.

I shook my head, turning around. "Good-bye, John." I strode towards the door, still fighting not to be knocked over. I was distinctly aware of him staring at me as I left.

The truth? I have never stopped loving John Lennon. I will _never _stop loving him. I've adjusted though, and it has become just a part of my daily life: wake up, be in love with John, take Jeanie to Val's, think about being in love with John, go to work, think about totally screwing up with John, pick up Jeanie, plot ways to get back with John, do the shopping, reminisce about the better times with John, come home, figure out good ways to tell John the truth about Jeanie, fail to find any good ways to tell John the truth about Jeanie, make dinner, wonder if I'll ever tell Jeanie the truth about John, put Jeanie to bed, cry a little bit about how I wish John was putting her to bed with me, go to sleep, dream about John. And repeat. Though, there are a few slight variations. Sometimes I'll bring her over to George and Paul's when Val (the best sister who ever lived) was busy, and sometimes I even wonder what John is doing at the exact moment I'm thinking about him. So, you see, I have never stopped loving John…it was just necessary to make him think I did at the time.

In so many ways, I don't blame John for being so cruel to me. For what he thinks I did…I would really hate me, too. It just hurts, you know? I only told him that the baby wasn't his so that he could go on living his life, becoming a famous rock star and all. I had no doubt in my mind that he would do that one day. He was talented, good-looking, charismatic, wild. Perfect. So, so perfect. But now I'm the one stuck in love with someone who hates my guts, and that's not fun.

I tucked Jeanie in that night, then made my way to my own bedroom. As I got ready for bed, I thought about that girl the boys introduced me to last night. A.J. I think her name was. She had looked so much like my Jeanie! Yes, she had John Lennon's eyes, just like my daughter. I wondered if she was a sister of his maybe…? No, if she was she wouldn't have made that small comment on him in front of me. She would have DEFINITELY known who I was.

I settled into bed, ready for the only part of my day that I could predict with certainty. But the tears didn't come tonight. Instead of heartbreak, I felt a slight hope. It welled in my heart, than began to pump through my veins, filling my entire body. It was such a different emotion than the usual dejectedness that I usually felt that it caught me by surprise. What was going on, I wondered. Ah, I see. I talked to him again tonight. I don't care how rude he was, I never really did, even when we were together. I talked to him again, yes, but the difference? Tonight he didn't cuss me out of the club.

**Ooookay, that's the end of chapter seven. I thought I did this one SUPER fast, all things considered. In case you didn't catch it, the first half is in A.J.'s POV, where Paul is telling her about his new song that he is working on. NOTE! In real life, he came up with the melody in I believe 1964, though the song came out on **_**Help! **_**in 1965. Yes, I know that he probably wouldn't of already had the melody in '62, but YOU all are going to go right along with it, okay? Okay, great. The second half is in Maggie Mae's POV. It deals with her still being in love with him. Very consumingly in love with him, as a matter of fact. I do want to say though…DON'T WORRY, JOHN-LOVERS!!! I wouldn't be so cruel as to make John THAT mean without a VERY valid reason. Everything will be clearer about HIS side of the story (if you don't understand, that is) next chapter. Thanks so much for reading, and REVIEW!!!! **

**p.s. my poll is still up. Would anybody that didn't vote on it pretty please do so now? Yeah, not in reviews, though. On my profile. Thanks so much! **


	8. Carry That Weight

**Okay, so I would just like to say thank you ALL for the wonderful reviews, not only for this past chapter but for all of them. They make my day, really they do. I would like to point out my favorite two reviews and address them, because I want to say something. HermioneLennon- Thank you! It's so ironic that you say that, because when I imagine the scenes for my stories, they come out like a play, or a movie. That's actually how I'm writing this one, because I saw the movie in my head and I liked it so much. Beatlesholic13- Haha, you made me laugh with the fiction thing, because it's so true! That's what I get for worrying so much. Also, DON'T ASSUME ANYTHING!!! I'm not saying that it's not Paul, then again I'm not saying it is. I don't know when I'll reveal to you who A.J. will fall in love with, but it won't be for a little while yet. After all, she JUST met the boys. And lastly (yes, that totally is a word), I never said Paul was a bad lyric writer. Or did I? Because I'm pretty sure I never did. It's just that in the process of creating "Yesterday", Paul could never find the right words to go along with his melody. It's not that he needed John for every song, just like John didn't need him for every song. Thank you so very much for your review, by the way, because it really made me think. Alright, now that I'm done with all of that talking, here's chapter eight!**

"Sit down, A.J.," Paul ordered, standing in front of the couch where John was sitting. His arms were crossed and his usually playful features were set in a stern frown. When I didn't move from the doorway of Ringo's room (that was where I had been sleeping) Paul pointed stiffly at the sofa. "Now."

I shuffled my feet, and Paul clucked impatiently. When I finally plopped down next to John, I sighed. "What is it? I kinda had plans today."

Paul shook his head slowly. "Yes, we know. But you don't have to start getting ready for your date for another, oh," he glanced at his watch, "eight hours or so. So I think you can spare a little bit of time for us."

I rolled my eyes. "You obviously don't know what it's like to be a girl."

"I hope not," Ringo quipped from the corner where he and George were standing, wearing expressions similar to Paul's.

"Yes, well, anyways, I need to talk to you. To you both, actually," Paul continued, gesturing to me and John. John looked over at me, narrowing his eyes a bit. Of course, I wanted to say something nasty to him, but every time I tried to think of something there was a little voice in my head that screamed 'YOU CAN'T BE MEAN TO YOUR GRANDPA!!!'. I looked away from him quickly so I wouldn't have to answer his ugly look.

"Well?" John asked, looking back at Paul. "I haven't got all day."

"We just want to know something." He looked back at Ringo and George, who nodded in agreement. "Why do you two hate each so much? You barely know each other!"

We both just stared at him. Paul raised his eyebrows, still waiting for the answer that would never come, when George stepped forward.

"This is getting nowhere. How about this?" He looked over at me. "A.J., why do you dislike John?" He smiled gently at me.

"He's an asshole." I said simply, shrugging.

"See?! She doesn't even give me a chance!" John exclaimed. "She's just…she's MEAN to me!" He crossed his arms in a pout.

"Really, John? Really? I'm MEAN to you?" I turned to look at him. "Don't even get me _started_ on that one!"

"See?!" He pointed wildly at me. "She's a fucking bitch on wheels!"

I scoffed at him, narrowing my eyes and shaking my head. "Oh, please, John. At least we can all predict my emotions. Yours are as freaking random as zebra!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he shot back. Paul started to back away from us, a scared look on his face. George and Ringo were still in their corner, but they were chuckling now.

"How the fuck should I know? Ever since you came back from the Cavern Club that one night, you've been acting like the whole fucking world has turned on you!" This, at least, was the truth. It had been about a week since the day that I had gone to the recording studio, and that was the night that John went out for some 'milk'. And when he came home he smelled of sweat, beer, and smoke, and the only thing he had with him was new attitude. A rather horrible attitude, actually. And he did NOT have my fucking milk.

John's face clouded over, and he lowered his eyes. There was no way he was going to give up that easily, though. At least, I didn't think so.

"Fine. You're right. I'm an asshole and I don't deserve to live. It's really great to know that everybody hates me." Then, before anybody could stop him, he stood up and strode out of the room, slamming the front door shut with a jerk of his wrist.

Paul winced at the sound, then slowly turned his head back to me. "Great. Now look what you've done."

Oh. Now that was harsh. "Hey! I didn't know that anything hap-"

"Yeah, I know. I'm just kidding." He sighed, taking John's seat on the couch next to me. Ringo and George stepped forward from their hiding place, pulling up chairs.

"So what happened then?" I had at least figured out that something bad had probably happened when he was at the club, but I didn't know what it was. I mean, it was John. The possibilities were endless.

All three of them exchanged a look. "He only told me 'cause he felt like trashing her. I don't think he would have said anything at all, though, if he weren't smashed." George examined his finger nails. I had noticed that he did this a lot.

"He still doesn't know that you and me know about her, A.J., so you can't say anything." Ringo looked me straight in the eyes, and I began to fidget a little bit. I didn't want to make it seem like I was looking at his eyes. Or even thinking about his eyes. But, God, they were pretty….

"Please, just go on," I pressed, guessing what this was about but wanting him to tell me before I said anything.

"I don't want this to make you think of him as less," George murmured. We exchanged a quick glance, and I knew exactly what he was talking about. He didn't want to be telling me bad thing about John because he was my grandfather. But that is SO stupid, because I don't really think of him like that. He's not some old man or something.

Paul snorted. "Please, Georgie. She already thinks of him as less. More than less, I would say. Eh, A.J.?" I smiled along with him, but I didn't say anything. Paul had no idea.

"Is this about Maggie Mae?" I asked, tired of waiting for them to say her name.

Paul and George exchanged a look. "Yeah…John saw her at the Cavern Club. Apparently Jeanie escaped again." All four of us smiled at the exact same moment. She really was an endearing little girl. "Apparently it didn't go so well."

That's hard to imagine, I though sarcastically. "Poor Maggie Mae."

Paul sighed, shaking his head. "A.J., I don't think you understand. John is not the bad guy here."

I felt George's eyes on me, but I really couldn't look at him. "How is it Maggie's fault?"

"She cheated on him!" Paul exploded. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. I don't know what he does in the future that makes him so God-awful, but he's not a bad guy."

I stared blankly at him. "I want to tell you so much, Paul. I honestly do." Did those words seriously just come out my mouth? What was wrong with me? Where the hell did my self-control go?

George nudged me sharply, and I cringed. I still didn't look at him, though, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Paul hesitated. "Okay, that doesn't sound so good, but whatever. I don't blame John one bit for the way he's acting."

"So you admit he's being an asshole."

"Yes! And he was every right to be one!"

"No one has that right. Not even John Lennon."

George interrupted our bickering. "A.J., I don't think you're remembering one part of the story. It's the same on whichever side you look at it from."

I frowned, recalling both stories they had told me. "What are you talking about?"

"John loved her. He really, really loved her. And she broke his heart." These words sent chills down my spine. John Lennon had been in love with my grandmother. My tiny, feisty Irish grandma. Somehow, hearing that made it all the more real to me. Almost too real.

I didn't know what to say. What could you say to that? All of a sudden, I felt a sudden wave of sympathy wash over me.

"He's still broken from it, and it's been years. There have been other girls, of course. But no one will ever measure up to Maggie for him. Or measure down. Whichever way you wanna look at it."

I wanted to cry. Seriously. I don't actually know why. I mean, I've always been a hopeless romantic, but that was pathetic. "I don't…I don't know what to say." I couldn't imagine living with a broken heart, let alone knowing that it would never be mended for as long as I lived. That was some depressing shit right there.

"Ah, I knew you had a heart." Paul smiled at me, though his eyes were still sad. He stood up. "We better shove off and look for the poor bastard. Don't want him drinking his troubles away this early." He started off to the front door, but no one followed him. I was still lost in my thoughts, and I bet the other two were, too.

"Anybody gonna get off their lazy arse and come with me?" he asked the room in general. Slowly, George rose from his chair, making his way to Paul in a dreamlike state.

"I'm gonna stay here," Ringo mumbled. "I don't think we should leave this one alone just yet." He bopped the top of my head. I rolled my eyes.

Paul shrugged. "Suit yourself." And then they were gone.

Ringo turned to me immediately. "So tell me, A.J."

My heart stopped for a second. Shit! Was it that obvious? Could everybody tell that I knew a little bit more about the Maggie Mae situation than I was letting on? "Tell you what?"

"What's going on with you and George?"

I was confused for a second. George? There was something going on with us? I wasn't aware of this. "I seriously have no idea what you're talking about."

Ringo chuckled. "Sure. I saw the looks you two were giving each other this entire time! I won't tell."

What? Ew, no! I don't think of George that way! Okay, so I did BEFORE I met him, but now? That's so weird! It would be like...dating my brother. "No, no! That was something else!"

He smiled wisely. "Oh, something ELSE?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"EW! Stop it! That's so weird!" I giggled, swatting his arm playfully. "Besides, you know I'm with Chuck now."

Ringo's eyes narrowed. "That guy is a bastard. I don't know what you see in him."

I laughed brightly. "He's kinda a badass. I like that." In truth, I didn't really know too much about Chuck O 'Laughlin. It wasn't that weird of a story, actually. The boys had dragged me along to a bar two nights ago, even though I insisted that I didn't drink. I had been sitting there, minding my own business, when I saw him. He was a big guy, probably 6'1'' or 6'2'', and he was sitting by himself drinking a beer. I told Ringo that I would be right back, then went over and sat next to him. We had talked for a while, then danced for even longer. Really, he was just some random guy, but when he asked me out (which was where I was going tonight) I had said yes. So that was that.

Ringo shook his head. "You don't know him."

"No, but who cares. I'm not gonna marry him or anything. God, I probably won't even be here tomorrow."

"You say that every day," he pointed out. I shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's because it is most likely true. We just have to track down Pa- Doctor Robert, I mean, and then I'm as good as gone." I leaned back into the couch cushions, closing my eyes.

"Why do you want to leave so badly? Are we really that horrible?" I almost laughed out loud at that one, but I heard the hurt in his voice and stopped myself.

"You guys aren't horrible at all. Actually, this has been kinda surreal for me. It's just…it's just that this isn't my real life. And I have to get back to living it soon." I muttered.

"Yeah…I think I know what you mean. But I'll still be sad when you go. You're entertaining. And you don't make me feel as short."

We chortled, but then fell silent. Once again, all the things that we didn't want to say aloud flowed between us, and I felt peaceful. He would miss me if I left tomorrow, I could tell that. And to know that I had left an imprint of myself in at least one of the Fab Four was more meaningful than anything else I had ever done…so far.

**Okay, this chapter is all about foreshadowing. PLEASE tell me someone has been getting the hints I've been dropping. And sorry for the profanity, I'm kinda a potty mouth in real life, so it kinda just got transferred to my character. Anyways, John is upset again (*sigh* silly John) but at least now he has a reason. Maybe some of you didn't think it was a very good reason, but I sure thought it was. In my opinion, there is nothing worse than heartbreak. I could go into that, but I won't purely for your benefit. Thanks so much to everybody who has reviewed…could you do it again? **


	9. Run For Your Life

**ME: AHHHHHHH!**

**MY SIS: Why the hell are you screaming?**

**ME: MY FANFICTION STORY GOT OVER 50 REVIEWS!**

**MY SIS: That's…God, Catie, that's stupid.**

**ME (crestfallen): What? Why?**

**MY SIS: It's not like writing those stories are ever going to get you anywhere!**

**ME: Hey, Lizzy?**

**MY SIS: Yeah?**

**ME: Go fall down a well.**

**The above conversation did not actually take place. This is what WOULD have happened if I should have told her, throw in a few swears. Note, I did not tell her what the story was about, seeing as she would have laughed at me like there was no tomorrow; she thinks I'm a throwback tree-hugging hippie that needs to get a life and turn on B96. That's coming from the disappointment of the family, mind you. ANYWAYS! Thank you guys soooo much for all the wonderful reviews! They're what are making me update so fast. That, and I had a sick day the other day so I had NOTHING to do (except for homework, but who wants to do that?). So, we last left off after John storms out of the house, Ringo thinks A.J. has a crush on George, and we find out about A.J.'s date with Chuck. I know I didn't really get into that, so here is A.J.'s date with Chuck…AKA chapter nine!**

I needed a ride. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. When Chuck asked me out…I was just so excited! I have to admit I didn't really think about the small details, such as actually getting there. Of course, the only one in the house that happened to have a car was John, and wasn't really even his, though I don't know and don't wanna know where he got it. I had no choice but to ask him to drive me, though God knows I would rather die.

I tip-toed out of my room (okay, so it's Ringo's room. Happy? But I seem to have taken a permanent residence there, so it might as well be mine.) and peeked around the door jamb into the living room. I was right; John was in there, strumming away on his guitar as usual. I didn't keep going into the room, because it looked to me like he was in a bad mood. The first thing I learned when I came to Liverpool was that when John had the face on, plus he was playing his guitar and trying out notes, he had entered Song-Mode. He didn't leave Song-Mode until the one he was working on was finished.

It turned out that it was a good thing that I hadn't continued into the room, because just then he started to sing. I have to say, considering all his low points (which can get very, very low), when John is playing his music, it's almost as though he is a different person. This is probably because the most raw, real side of him comes out when he writes lyrics, but who knows. It could be an act. All's I know is that he can be quite magical when he plays, and it almost makes you forgive him for everything else he's done to you. Almost.

"I call your name, but you're not there," he began softly. "Was I to blame for being unfair?"

The lyrics gave me the chills. It was song I knew… "I Call Your Name", if I was not mistaken. The way he sang them now, however, was bit different than the fast pace of how the song would eventually turn out.

"Oh, I can't sleep at night since you've been gone. I never weep at night…I can't go on!" He strummed a little bit, his eyes closed the entire time. "Don't you know that I can't take it. I don't know who can. I'm not going to make it…I'm not that kind of man."

I prayed fiercely that this wasn't for the person that I thought it was for. Even as I did so, though, the lyrics made it more and more apparent. "Oh, I can't sleep at night, but just the same. I never weep at night, I call your name." Be bit his lip, staring off into space. "Don't you know I can't take it, I don't know who can. I'm not going to make it…I'm not that kind of man. Oh, I can't sleep at night, but just the same. I never weep at night, I call your name. I call your name. I call your name. I call your name."

He finished the song with a weak fade out, his voice trembling. Do you ever have that feeling…the one where you're about to see something you REALLY don't want to see, but you can't look away? Like seeing your mom cry, or watching an old person fall down. You want to help, but you're paralyzed with this…with this emotion. This feeling. Hell if I know what it is.

John started to rub vigorously at his eyes, then buried his whole face in his hands. I wanted to come into the room, put a comforting arm around him, tell him everything was going to be okay…even though it wasn't. I finally willed up the energy to move, knocking brightly on the door as though I had not witnessed this whole event.

"John?" I chirped. He jumped three feet, hands coming back down to rest on his guitar. His cheeks were pinker than normal, but other than that there was no sign that he had been crying, so I assumed he hadn't been. The soft, distant expression he had on his face was gone now. Instead, his features were hardened, already hostile, like just the sound of my voice could make him mad. I had already dug myself into a rut, in other words.

"What?" he barked, watching me with narrowed eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to remember what Paul had said about him only being mean because he was heartbroken.

"Would you…would you do me a favor?" This had always been my style; beat around the bush until the person guessed what you wanted. That was you didn't have to actually say it out loud, therefore making it THEIR idea. Yes, I was quite brilliant, thank you very much.

John hesitated. "Erm…what kind of favor?"

"Well, you know how I have that date tonight…"

"The one you won't shut up about? Nope, never heard of such a thing."

He continued to stare at me as I scuffed my toes on beat-up hardwood floors. "Chuck doesn't have a car so he can't pick me up."

"Walk."

"The club he wants to go to is too far."

"Then don't go."

"Well, I thought someone else could drive me."

"That's good. Then why are you pestering me about it?"

"Um."

"Um?"

"Yes, um."

He sort of smiled, shaking his head and looking down at his guitar. "I know what you're hinting at. No, I will not give you a ride."

"What? C'mon! Please? You can…" I searched for a suitable excuse that would make him take me. "…bring Cynthia! I bet she'd love to go. I heard it's a cool place."

I watched him with hopeful eyes, but he kept staring at his guitar. The light humor was suddenly gone from his eyes, and they were hardened again. "Me and Cynthia are taking a break."

"Oh." Stupid, stupid, stupid! You're supposed to get everything check with George before you say stuff to him! Didn't we already establish this rule? "Please, can you just-"

"I'll take you." John and I both looked over toward the kitchen at the same time. "I'll take you," Paul repeated, "but John would have to lend me the car first."

I looked back to John, hopeful again, and he reluctantly nodded. "YAY!" I smiled toothily at John, then ran back into the room where I was getting ready, calling over my shoulder, "Thanks, Paul!"

I came back out fifteen minutes later, dressed for clubbing in the 60s. We had gotten me a few things the second day I was there, so I had a few outfits to choose from. I hopped in the car that was parked out front and glanced at Paul in the driver's seat. "Okay, let's go!"

It was only then that I noticed them. I did one of those slow, dramatic head turns that people are always doing in movies, and turned to the backseat to face them. "What the hell?"

George and Ringo winced. "Well, if Paulie gets to go I don't see why we don't," George said defensively. "It is awfully nice of us to give you a ride, isn't it?" He smiled evilly.

Ringo started giggling. "Aw, c'mon, A.J.! It'll be a blast! You, me, George, Paul…and Chuck." The other two started laughing along with him. Poor Chuck.

They chatted happily the entire car ride, and I glared out the window at the stupid, stinking Liverpudlian rain. Yay, this was _so_ much fun.

The rain was pouring now, drumming little songs on the roof of the car. We pulled up in front of the club with a screech. Can I just make a little note? Paul is NOT the best driver in the world. I knew that any way I had it, I was going to get soaked. I might as well just make a run for it.

Sure enough, I ran across the sidewalk as quickly as I could and STILL got drenched. I shook out my curly hair as I walked into the smoke filled bar area. No matter what Chuck had said, these places were all alike to me. Loud music, slutty girls, lots of alcohol, and smoke galore. That was about it.

"A.J.!" I heard somebody call from across the dance floor. I began picking my way through, seeing Chuck's hulking frame on the other side. He smiled when he saw me moving closer, showing off his uncharacteristically white and straight smile. "Hey, short stuff," he boomed as soon as he saw me. I could already tell that he had been drinking.

"Hey. What's going on?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not much. Here, let me go buy you a drink." Before I could do as much as nod, he was off. Instead of having to pick his way over, however, people parted like the Red Sea. It was actually quite entertaining. I looked around, found an empty chair, and sat down. I picked up my purse and pulled out a compact mirror, checking my make-up. I started to reapply, and before I knew it Chuck was back.

"Thanks." I took whatever it was that he had gotten from me and took a blind sip, even though I didn't really drink. I almost spit it back up. Instead, I just smiled and sat it down on the floor beside me. Won't be picking that up again, I thought.

He downed his entire beer in one gulp, then looked at me. "You wanna dance, right?" I smiled, pretending he had read my mind.

"Yeah. C'mon." He let me take his hand and lead him onto the heavily populated dance floor. It was at least five times hotter here, and I felt disgusting because I was already wet. As we danced to the fast-paced music, we began to chat, and I got the impression that he wasn't very bright. First off, when I had mentioned that I wasn't from around here, he nodded and said that he thought he had been to the part of England my accent was from. And here's me thinking that Chicago was in America.

Something suddenly caught Chuck's eye, and his attention was temporarily diverted. Then he looked back at me. "Why are They here?"

I glanced behind me, following his gaze to the bar, and saw who he was talking about. Ringo, Paul, and George were leaning against the bar top, a flock of birds surrounding them. They were laughing and sipping beers. Bastards! They weren't allowed to be here! They were practically on my date with me! I continued to look at them, thinking homicidal thoughts, when Ringo looked up. He smiled goofily at me, giving me a thumbs up. Grrrrr.

"Well…it's a long story. Basically, they gave me a ride here and APPARENTLY they wouldn't leave." I grumbled under my breath. "But I guess they're my ride home."

His face contorted a bit, trying out different emotions. Finally it settled on amused. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't want to come to my place after. With…well, you know."

Whaaaaat? I most certainly did NOT know! "What are you talking about?"

He rolled his eyes. "Please. Those guys have more girls in and out of that house than God himself. There were these girls…ugh, what were their names…something like Cora and Lidia. Anyways, crazy birds, really nuts. Wonder what happened to them."

What the fuck was he talking about? He had this weird haze to his eyes, like he didn't know what he was talking about either. "Okay…"

Just then, a girl tackled Chuck from behind. "Chuckie!" she screeched, wrapping her arms around him. Um, excuse me, but BITCH PLEASE! Chuck may have been the suckiest date I had ever had, but he was still my date! "Let's dance!"

Chuck turned around and wrapped his arms around her. I kinda just stood there, feeling that horrible feeling of rejection seeping into my skin. Just then, I saw a flash of brown hair next to me. Paul reached up, tapping on Chuck's shoulder.

"Hi, Chuckie, is it? I've been watching from over there, and I really don't like the way you've been treating my friend A.J., here."

Mortified, I nudged him in the ribs. "Paulie…" I hissed under my breath. He held up his pointer finger, and then moved it up to jab Chuck in the chest. He looked quite annoyed, and the girl he was with was batting her eyelashes at Paul. Stupid whore.

"Listen, bud, I was just talking with a friend, here. You can move along back to your butt buddies, alright."

And then, out of the blue, Ringo and George were there. "C'mon. Let's just go," George whispered to me. Ringo looked on with narrowed eyes. I gulped. Uh-oh. You didn't get Ringo angry. You just didn't.

"Yeah, just go," Chuck mocked, shoving Paul back a little bit. Paul looked down shaking his head, then grabbed me gently by the arm.

"I'm not doing this," he announced, then turned around and began toting me away. I struggled with his grasp, but I was too small to throw him off.

"Now you're taking the bird? Aw, c'mon Paulie! I thought we were mates." Paul kept trudging through the crowd, rage seeping off of him. Where was John when you needed him? "Hey, A.J.? You wanna come out next week. Without your precious Beatles this time."

I halted where I stood, most people in the club staring at us by now because of the commotion. I looked up at Paul, who, like Chuck, was waiting for my answer. Since I was still beyond pissed that they had toted me of like that, I turned around and called to him, "Sure. Pick me up this time."

Paul looked down at me, shaking his head slowly. I could tell I had chosen wrong, but who the fuck cared what he thought? Paul backtracked, marching straight up to Chuck.

"I swear to God, Chuck. You break her heart, I break your neck."

That was probably a good time to leave, because Chuck looked like he was ready to haul off and deck Paul one in his pretty face. I hurriedly grabbed Paul's hand and led him outside, where it was still raining. Did that mean something?

The whole entire car ride home, I sat with my face pressed up against the window, listening to the three boys berate Chuck and tell me how worthless he was. And though I knew I should have stood up for him, I kept my eyes focused out the window, and secret smile creeping onto my face. Sure, I was still enraged beyond belief. Sure, it might have been the suckiest date ever. But it didn't matter. The boys were verbally abusing Chuck for _me_. Paul almost got into a fight for _me_. The Beatles were actually starting to care about _me_. _Me_. And for once, I just wanted to take that one little point and be happy. For _me._

**Um, can I just say something real quick? Go Paul. I don't care what you guys say, that was a badass move. But what else does that prove? Maybe that though A.J. is a bitch, the boys like her. How can that be possible. Well…I don't think she's as ferocious as she thinks she is. Almost like a cute little puppy trying to be mean. It just doesn't work out in the little guy's favor. It's almost too adorable. I guess same goes for A.J. But anyways, this chapter brought us sad John (can you guess who the song was about in the way that I put it in here?), protective Paul, and a horrible date with Chuck. Of course, A.J. had to accept a second date with the jerk in a moment of pure defiance. I really shouldn't complain, and neither should you, because it really does serve a greater purpose in the end. OH! And I hope you guys caught my little mention there about 'Cora and Lidia'…similar to Cory and Linda maybe? Just a little tribute to one of my very favorite stories, I Me Mine, which is written by two of the most amazing girls on this site, Flippzy-gurl and Sweeneysbestfriend. Just so you know, those names might make another appearance in my story. And…wow, I think that's it! Okay, thanks so much for reading and all, so now we all know what's next. No? Seriously? You don't know? Am I seriously gonna have to tell you? REVIEW!**


	10. If I Needed Someone

**Hey guys! So, I just posted a new story with snow-ball13 and I haven't really gotten a chance to work on the next chapter of THIS story. I know I shouldn't have just left you guys with bad memories of the terrible Chuck, but whatever. It was necessary, as I said before. But don't worry; Mr. Chuck won't be in this chapter at all, except for maybe a few mentions. Once again, sorry for not updating as fast as my usual standards, but to make up for that I won't babble too much. I owe you guys a long one, so here it is! Chapter ten (God already?!)!**

"I want my bed back."

I looked up from the novel I was reading and at Ringo's half angry, half amused face. I shifted myself on said bed, adjusting the pillow a little bit. "Now?"

His composure suddenly dropped and his shoulders sagged. "Please, A.J.? My back hurts SO BAD from sleeping on the couch, and the lads are starting to make fun of me. Can't you take George's bed or something?"

I tapped my chin pretending to think. "Hmmm, well, if I remember correctly, you weren't even at home the past five nights. It's always one of you. Are you sure your back doesn't hurt from something else?" I raised my eyebrow suggestively. He grinned and shook his head violently.

"I'm tired!"

"Suuuuuure."

"I am!"

"I know. But from what?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he started to chuckle. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" He stomped his foot like a little kid. "I just want to have a little nap in my own bed."

I rolled my eyes, turning back to my book. "No one's stopping you, buddy. I'm not that big, and neither are you." I scooted closer to edge. I barely even took up half of the bed. He stared at me for a moment, as though wondering whether I was serious or not. "Go ahead." I gestured to the open space.

He didn't waste a moment more. He threw himself onto the bed next to me, and within moments his breaths had become deep and even. I snuggled back into the pillows, and his cool breath tickled my ears. Soon, I forgot all about the fact that he was there, and I began to get back into my book.

It was about an hour later that he rolled over. He was laying on his side, facing me, and his face was almost angelic in his sleep. I guess he really was tired. He brought his hand up and tucked it under his chin. On the way up, however, his index finger lightly skimmed my forearm. Even at the softness of his touch, an electric shock seemed to zap my arm. I hadn't anticipated that when I invited him to lie next to me. Suddenly I was uncomfortable, and I didn't know what to make of it.

I looked back at him, wondering what had caused the spark. Surely, it was something new. Ringo had touched me plenty of times; poking me when he was trying to annoy me, rubbing my arm when I started to freak out, ruffling my hair or tapping my nose when he was trying to belittle me. Never before had it made me feel this way. Why was I even freaking out about this? I'm sure it was just a little shock, nothing major.

He sighed, and the sound of it made my heart stop. What the hell??? I turned my head away from his features and stared at my book. The words might have been in a foreign language for all I was getting out of them. My eyes slowly snuck back, searching for his face. I had the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, and I was seriously contemplating it when I heard someone clear their throat from the doorway.

I must have jumped a foot in the air, and I shook the entire bed, making Ringo pick his head up drowsily. Maggie Mae stood looking at us, frowning, holding a squirming Jeanie in her arms. I blushed scarlet, sitting up in bed and pushing my hair away from my face.

"Oh…hi Maggie." Ringo sat up beside me, his eyelids still dragging.

"Hi." She stared at us curiously, eyes darting back and forth. My flush intensified.

"Whatcha doing here?" I asked, not meaning to be rude, but also not meaning to be nice. This was John's house, after all. How did she even get in?

She shifted Jeanie in her arms. Jeanie giggled happily, waving one of her chubby palms at me. I did a mini-wave back and waited for Maggie's answer. "George was supposed to take her this afternoon, but he isn't feeling up to it, I guess. He said you might be willing to do it." She gazed suspiciously at me. "But if you're busy…"

"No!" I leapt from the bed. Ringo gave a confused glance before rolling over and occupying the entire thing himself. "No, I was just reading. I'd be happy to look after Jeanie."

Maggie Mae grinned at me, setting her daughter on the floor and turning to leave. "Alright. George told me John and Paul will be back around six, so I'll be by to pick her up at five thirty sharp. Is that okay?" I nodded, but she was already gone.

Thank God that nice A.J. girl was able to take her, that clears SO much up. This was my main thought as I hurried down the paved street towards the restaurant. I wondered what was up with her and that Starkey fellow. I didn't want any funny business going on while Jeanie was there. Not that George would allow that. He might have had a bit of a hangover, but he wouldn't turn a blind eye while Jeanie was there. That I was sure of.

I rushed into the small café, checking the time as I did so. One thirty, perfect. He said he'd be here. God, I hoped he'd be here.

I ran my eyes around the place, searching for him. Yes, he was true to his word. He sat in the corner by the windows, sipping on a coffee of some sort. "Robert!" I called, waving, and he grinned and gestured to the empty seat in front of him.

I weaved through the strewn about chairs, landing right where he had indicated. We sat there, just staring at each other with faint smiles, for about five awkward seconds. During those five seconds, I thought about how this would never happen with John. How he always had something to say that could fill a silence, how even if things WERE quiet, they were never uncomfortable like this.

Robert cleared his throat. "How've things been?" he asked politely, inclining his head towards me.

"Oh…" I deliberated a bit. "Mostly the same."

"And Jeanie?"

I smiled lightly, closing my eyes and envisioning her sweet face. "Happy. That girl is always so damned happy." I secretly wished that I could be happy like that, instead of just so miserable all the time. But that plan wasn't working out too well for me.

He chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I've noticed that." Robert ran his fingers across the table top thoughtfully. "And John? Any progress with that?"

I hesitated. Maybe it was a mistake to tell Robert the truth about Jeanie. But then again, if we were going to have any sort of relationship, wasn't it best for every party to be honest? I trusted Robert, and I already regarded him as a deep personal friend. He wouldn't tell anybody that John was Jeanie's real father. I was sure of that.

"No. I tried to talk to him about two weeks ago, but he always wants to start a fight. I don't blame him, of course. I can only hope that it will get better in time." I stirred my recently delivered coffee with my index finger. When I told Robert the story, I had made it seem like I held no emotional attachment to John, just the fact that he was my baby daddy. And I made sure to leave out the part where I was deeply and irrevocably in love with him. That was sorta a date-killer, if the whole subject already wasn't.

"Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here. Just know that." He smiled, and I felt an explosion of warmth inside of me. So this is what it means to have a true friend, I thought. If nothing else, at least he would always be that. And I could learn to love him, couldn't I?

I certainly hope so.

"Put one finger here, another here, and just one more here. Now strum all the way down. Good! That's a G."

Jeanie's plump little fingers hardly even made it around the guitar, and the 'note' that she was playing sound more like it came from a rubber band and tissue box than a real guitar, but she giggled happily anyways, not seeming to care. She looked up to George with sparkling eyes, letting go of the guitar and clapping her hands.

I thought George playing with Jeanie was incredibly cute, but I would never tell George that. It would go right to his head, and then he would think he was the King of Cool or something like that.

"Again, Georey! Again!" she demanded. He put her fingers in all the right places, then made her strum again. I had seen the process repeated a zillion times, but it never got old for the little girl. She didn't even notice when George lifted his hands to his head, held them there for a few seconds, then brought them back down with a pained expression. George had thanked me profusely when I told him I'd watch her today, but had taken over only twenty minutes later, saying that I 'wasn't doing it right'.

"A.J.? Will you come in here real quick?"

I followed Ringo's voice into his bedroom, where he was bent over in the corner, examining something with a look of extreme distaste. My thoughts immediately turned ominous, and I pattered over to him. "What?"

He stepped aside, revealing something I hadn't expected. "I didn't want to touch it," he admitted, glancing at the article of clothing out of the corner of his eye.

"Rings, it's a bra. It won't bite." I raised my eyebrows amusedly, watching at the squeamish expression that encompassed his usually bright features.

"But it looks so…" he searched for the right word, "_delicate_." He looked over at me wearily. "Please just move it."

I grinned, a plan already formulating in my head. "I think you should move it. After all, you've been living with me for, what, two weeks now? Don't pretend you've never seen a strap or something fall down on my shoulder. And I'm SURE that you've touched (and/or taken off) MUCH more racy ones than a simple black lace."

Ringo gaped at me, then reached up to push his bangs off his forehead. "You can't make me touch it," was all he said.

I raised one eyebrow (that was always a skill in which I was EXTREMELY proud) at him. "Oh, no? So now you're doubting me."

We stood there, the suspense building before I put my plan into action. Then, all at once, I rushed forward, scooping my bra into one hand, and lunged at Ringo. He dodged me, screaming like a little girl. ".!"

I cackled madly while chasing him out of his room, waving the laced black cloth victoriously. "Come here, Ringo! I wanna show you something!" We rushed past Jeanie and George (who had moved into the kitchen) and out into the tiny backyard. I started to gain on him, and right when he was within reach I leapt forward and tackled him.

Giggling like mad, I crawled on top of him and shoved my bra is his face. "I…AM…VICTOIROUS!" I panted. He squirmed around, laughing like a crazy person, and tried to rip the cloth off his face with his fingertips. "Be a man, Rings. C'mon…touch it!"

I heard him take a deep breath, then reach up and snatch the black lace out of my hands, tossing it across the yard. He immediately breathed a sigh of relief, then grinned. I looked down at him, still laughing. After a few moments, he got a sly look on his face. "You can get off of me now."

I flushed for the second time that day, rolling off of him. As I went by, my hand accidentally brushed his, and again I felt that spark. I glanced up at him quickly, trying to figure out if he felt it, too. This time, I knew, it couldn't be excused as just static electricity. His eyes remained downward as he sat up, dusting himself off.

We heard a slight commotion from inside, and I stood up, too. Leaving my bra for a little while, we snuck back into the house (I was too embarrassed to say anything more) and peeked around the corner and into the living room.

"Please," George pleaded, his hands together. "I'm sorry, Mags. I really am. I don't know what happened…"

Maggie (whose face must have been as red as mine) shook her head vigorously. "Stop. I'm sorry, Georgie. I can't…I can't do this right now. I'm in over my head as it is."

Ringo and I looked at each other, and I could tell our thoughts were in sync. George must have said or done something outside of their friendship. Oh, no. Poor George. Didn't he tell me he thought he might be a little bit in love with Maggie Mae?

Maggie bent down to pick up Jeanie, who was playing with one of George's old guitars, and shook her head again. "Thank you so much for today, but really it would be better if I just left."

George bit his lip. "I…I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Then don't say anything at all." She turned to leave. "Maybe I'll see you around." And then she was gone.

It took me only a few seconds for what happened to sink in. George had done something stupid, and now Maggie Mae was leaving…and it sounded like for good. I hardly even hesitated before racing out into the hall, pushing past George, and out into the cold evening air. It hadn't struck me as to how cold it was just minutes before when I was with Ringo, but now it seemed freezing.

"MAGGIE!" I called, seeing as she was already a little ways down the block. She stopped and turned, light tears streaming down her face.

"You can't leave," I whined, the sad truth already setting in. "Not now. John has to…you have to tell him! And George…please don't go!"

She looked a bit taken aback. "How…How do you know about John?"

Oops. "I just…okay, George told me. But only because it was necessary for me to know! I swear, that was all. I forced it out of him, I…I held a gun to his head. I don't know! I can't think right now." I hopped frantically in place, trying to shake my thoughts into order. "All's I know is that you cannot leave now. You're supposed to, that's how the story goes, but maybe if you stay things will turn out differently!"

She looked at me like I was crazy. "What story? Who are you, and what's going on?"

I waved away her questions. "It doesn't matter. You just can't leave. Stay for…stay for John!"

She frowned, shifting Jeanie from her left to her right arm. "John? John and I will never be the same as we once were, if ever forgives me, that is." She scuffed the sidewalk with her toe bitterly. "He hates me anyways."

I took this, the only little bit of personal information she had given me, and ran with it. "He doesn't! He's just terribly heartbroken. I'm sure if you just told him about Jeanie then he would take back what he said!"

Maggie Mae shrugged. "I don't want him living with that burden. It was a mistake, but I never want Jean to have to carry that around with her. It better like this…really, it is." She didn't look to sure about this statement, but her voice never let in any stray emotions.

I scrambled for another excuse for her. I decided to use the real reason that I came running out here in the first place. "What about George? He could make you happy, I know he could! I've been living with him long enough to care about him, and that's only because he cares about everybody else no matter who or what they are! And he…well, I think you know how he feels about you."

"George Harrison kissed me in front of my daughter. Why do you want me here so badly, anyways? How do you even know I'm going to leave?"

I ignored her questions once again. "He kissed you?!"

She nodded solemnly. "I have never felt that way about him."

Awww, poor Georgie! I racked my brain again. "Then what about...me?" Oh, please dear God, if you exist, tell me I did NOT just say that! She looked at me like I was totally insane.

She started to back up a little bit. "Why would I stay in this miserable town for you? I hardly even know you, nor will I ever!"

I have to admit, that was the point where I lost it. I had been maintaining my cool fairly well over the past couple of days. I mean, there had been a lot; the time jump, Doctor Robert not bringing me back, the whole John thing, Chuck…. And I had always been one to just take things and take things, but right now I couldn't. Right now it was just a little too much.

"You _know_ who I am! You KNOW! I know you think it's impossible, and I did too just a few days ago, but you KNOW!"

She kept staring at me like I was completely insane. "I think you've got the wrong person…"

"NO!" I shrieked. Jeanie, who was usually happy as could be, was looking a little scared now. I had a sudden flash of the woman that she would grow up to be; her fair complexion, her dark curly hair, her witty humor, her bright outlook on life. She would marry Jude Rose, and they would live happily ever after, having three nice (if you could call me nice) kids and a white picket fence around their home. She would visit her fiery mother every weekend, most of the time dragging my two brothers and me along. Grandma Ryan would tell us all kinds of stories about how she left Ireland, went to England, and then came to America with our grandpa Robert Ryan. Jeanie would lead a fairly normal life, and Maggie Mae would give up everything for it. That right there was the part of the story that I was never told. That, and the Beatles part. But maybe there was a reason for that.

"Just look at me! Look at me straight in the eye." And for the briefest of moments, she did. I could see it in her features when it finally clicked. Slowly, she looked down at the wiggling girl in her arms, then back at me, always focusing on the eyes. She knew, she had to.

Maggie stumbled backwards a little bit, still looking dazed, then took a few more steps back. "No..." she mumbled, "it can't be!"

I knew I had lost. Any hope of Maggie Mae staying Liverpool was gone. That meant that MY future didn't consist of any Beatle grandpas, that meant that Doctor Robert was leaving and wouldn't be able to return me to 2010, and that also meant that I was going to have to go on living with the fact that my mother's whole life had been a lie, and _I _knew, not her.

Maggie gave me one last horrorstruck look before turning around and bolting. Jeanie's head appeared over her shoulder, and she gave me the tiniest of waves. Something in my heart collapsed at this sight. My two connections to the world that I really lived in were leaving me, and I felt so homesick right then that I could barely take it.

I spun on my heel, slouching dejectedly back to the boys' house. Inside, I found George and Ringo standing in the exact same places I had left them. Ringo looked a bit confused, though he seemed to have gathered the gist of what was going on, and George looked completely and totally crushed. Without thinking, I strode over, wrapping my arms around George's waist and resting my head on his chest.

We stood like this for a few minutes, his arms still hanging at his sides, before he leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Is she gone?"

His words pushed the tears that had been hanging on the edges of my eyelids out and let them roll freely down my ample cheeks. "Y-Yes," I told him. There was a moment of hesitation, then he let himself melt into my arms. His crying went on long after mine stopped, but still I let him shake into my shoulder. The feeling of loss and heartbreak that surrounded him was starting to make me sad again, so I held him tighter, trying to counteract my emotions.

"At least you'll see her again," he whispered. I didn't dare look at him; I didn't like to see other people cry.

"No," I murmured back. "I won't."

Ringo looked on with a gloomy expression on his usually bright features. He didn't once move to join our pity-party, nor did he try to break it up. Maybe he felt the bond that was forming between me and George, or maybe he was paralyzed with that same feeling I had when seeing John sing for Maggie Mae. I guess I'll never really know.

Can I tell you something? I know that I am no expert on friendship or family matters, and I will never pretend to be. But there is one thing I know, one thing that I gained for this experience with George. There is a line between friends, lovers, and family. George stepped over the line that separated friends from lovers that day. But he didn't stay in that little spot. No, from there he leapt all the way to family, in one moment becoming closer to me than I was with my real brothers. Because isn't the true definition of family seeing each other at our lowest and weakest, but still loving and supporting us through all we go through? I don't know about anybody else, but that's what I think of.

So that was the day George Harrison became my brother.

**Okay, please use your figurative imaginations please. He wasn't literally A.J.'s brother, but the two of them bonded over the two weeks that A.J. had been there. And bear with me on the whole Maggie Mae subject. I will explain much more about what happens in the future with her and all that. For right now, this is what I want you to know. Next chapter? I haven't decided. I'm debating whether to make a Paul or Ringo one first…. What would you guys like to see? I mean, you should know that if it's Ringo then it also has to be Chuck. And if it's Paul then it's not gonna be that exciting. Either way, you're gonna get both chapters. Tell me what you think in one of those little things we here at fanfiction like to call REVIEWS!!!!**


	11. I've Just Seen a Face

**Oh, my gosh! Who am I anymore? I don't even know who this strange person is…seriously! I don't even remember when the last time I updated was, and that's SO sad. At least it hasn't even been close to a month but STILL! I feel so bad! But enough of my thoughts, I have some news for you concerning this chapter. Remember how at the end of this I asked whether I should have a Paul/drama chapter or a Ringo/Chuck chapter first? Okay, well, I saw what you guys said and decided…RINGO! Hehe, but anyone who knows me knows how much I LOOOOOOVE Paul, so he'll be next for sure. Okay, without any more of my annoying babble, here's chapter eleven!**

"Hello?"

"Yeah, um…hi."

"Hi…who is this?"

"Chuck."

"Oh, hi Chuck!"

"Yeah, hi. Wait-this is A.J., right?"

"Last time I checked."

"Ha, okay good. So listen, I know it's been a little while since our date and all…."

"A little while? Try a few weeks!"

"Right…yeah, okay. Sorry. But I'm calling you now."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So you're asking me out?"

"Yup, how bout tonight?"

"Sure. But you're still picking me up."

"Oh…okay, yeah, I guess I can arrange that."

"Good. Then I'll see you at…?"

"7 o'clock?"

"Sure, sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Bye, A.J."

"Bye, Chuck."

I hung up the phone, then turned around to see a rather annoyed looking George across the room from me, his arms folded. "So who was that?" he asked coyly, though he had been in the room the entire time.

"God," I replied, then edged my way around him and out of the living room. I strode into my 'room', which was actually a little piece of the living room with a curtain sectioning it off. I slammed the thin blanket that hung as my wall shut in his face, then turned around and laid down on my small bed.

"Anna Jean Rose! I was _talking _to you!" I could tell that his face was pressed up against my wall, but I didn't even spare his shadow a second glance. I picked up the nail file lying next to my bed and began filing away in a classic teenage girl move. Hell if I cared, though.

"Bitch please. You're still talking to me, unfortunately." I leaned back into my array of pillows, all of which Paul and I had bought the last time we were drunk at home and had nothing to do. Because of the state we were in when we bought them, they ranged from bright green with dark blue polka dots to deep tan with orange giraffes. The giraffes one was Paulie's favorite.

"C'mon A.J.! I need to talk to you about this! I mean, don't you remember last time?" Last time…last time…. Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Because seriously, first impressions are bullshit (sometimes) and maybe Chuck was just having an off day or something. He sounded normal on the phone, anyways.

"That's just too bad, Georgie Boy. I'm not having this conversation, sorry."

"Let me in A.J.!" George whined. It didn't seem to make a difference to him that my 'door' was nothing more than an old light blue baby blanket that the boys had lying around. I had only had my room for about a week (and that was only because Ringo got tired of alternating who got to use his bed because sometimes he 'needed' it and then I got all disgusted and it was this huge ordeal) but that was enough time to enforce the 'No Beatles Allowed' rule. Yeah, if you told me that I would have to put up THAT particular rule for my room just a couple months ago, I would have laughed in your face. But that was what I got for actually getting to know them as people. Apparently.

Just then, the front door opened, and I could tell right away that it was John just by the sound of his footsteps. "John," George moaned immediately, "tell A.J. to let me in."

I heard him snort. "Why would you want to go in there? _She_ is in there."

"Oh, I love you, too, John!" I called, sarcasm dripping from my words.

His footsteps trailed away into the kitchen, and like the little boy that he was, George went after him. I felt a momentary flash of panic, seeing as George was probably going to tell John about my date witch Chuck, and Paul was currently in the kitchen, too. Paul wouldn't be too happy….

But nobody further came to my room, I got ready for my date, exiting the bathroom a few minutes before seven. When I emerged into the living room to grab my purse from my bed, I found John, Paul, and George all sitting side by side on the couch, waiting for me.

"Um, hey guys," I said uncertainly, reaching past my walls and grabbing my bright red purse (which clashed beautifully with my black leather jacket). "Where's Ringo?"

They shrugged in unison, eyes watching me. "Okay. This is started to freak me out."

John rolled his eyes, but Paul answered. "I heard about your little date."

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Oh, please. Is that what this is about?"

George nodded. "We don't want you to get hurt again."

"We?" I asked, my eyes on John. We still had a love/hate relationship. Love/hate as in I loved to hate him.

"We." John confirmed, not quite meeting my eyes. Aw! He didn't completely hate me!

"Now you realize that Chuck is not a good guy, right?" That was Paul.

I scoffed at him. "Because of one night? No, I don't think one night makes a person bad."

Paul laughed darkly, shaking his head. "You're not the only girl he's ever been out with, A. There've been others, and almost everyone has ended bad."

"Bad?"

"Bad."

I still had no idea what he was talking about. Bad? Chuck just seemed like he was still a little bit immature, not all that bad. We all sat there, staring at each other. Bad? Really?

"So…" John began, trying to break the silence. "Is he picking you up."

"Yes!" I said, clinging to the subject change. "In a car!"

"Well, that's how they usually do it," George smirked.

"Yeah, well, what time will you be home, then? In that car that you'll be riding in, I mean." Paul watched me carefully. "Because if the need arises you know that we can go pick you up."

"In what?" John inquired, turning to look at him with his eyebrows raised. "Certainly you're not implying that I will volunteer MY car."

Paul ignored him, pressing on. "Because if you want to stay out tonight, just know that you have to be back a little bit early tomorrow. We have a recording session and I wanted to work a little bit on the song afterword-"

George nudged him. "Hey, Paul, stop being such a killjoy. You're acting like your mother!"

"Hey, A, you reckon you're gonna be gone ALL night?" John asked, leaning in. "'Cause that Chuck, he's a frisky one."

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, jumping up. That was something that you did NOT want to hear from your grandfather. Luckily at that just moment a car horn sounded outside and I made a break towards the door.

"Bye guys!" I yelled as I sprinted the hell out of there.

"Be safe!" John called from the doorways, snickering like crazy.

Seven beers for Chuck, one and a half for me, thirteen bad jokes, and two rejected make-outs from Chuck later, and I was realizing that this really was a bad idea. And that Chuck was a bad guy. Pretty much.

"Hey, Anna, why don't we get outta here," he slurred at me, his hands roaming down to my legs. I slapped them away.

"It's A.J." I scooted my chair farther away from him, but he only leaned a little bit closer to me, filling in the distance. He finished yet another beer. Bring that total up to eight. "And I wouldn't go back to your place if it were raining acid and it was the last shelter available."

"Huh?" He was stupid, too. Why was I even here?

"Listen, I'm gonna go…." I stood up to leave, but it didn't seem like he liked that too much. He stood up, too.

"But we just got here." He took a step closer to me, cornering me between the bar and the wall. "You can't leave yet…"

My heart started beating a little bit faster. "Please let me go, Chuck." I tried to push past him, but he caught my arm and twisted me around to face him. If the bar hadn't been so damn crowded, and if we hadn't chosen seats in the corner, and maybe even if Chuck hadn't been so damn big, somebody would've rescued me by now. But those were just what ifs.

"I don't think so." He pushed me against the wall, then took a step closer, pressing his sweaty body against mine. "I don't think so."

I tried to scream, but it was muffled by his muscular chest. My arms reached around him, struggling, but he took it the wrong way. He leaned in, smashing his lips against mine. I suppose you could call it kissing, but it wasn't the any kiss I ever wanted to remember. It hurt.

Pushing his mouth off mine, I leaned my head around his body and called out in my loudest screech. "HELP!"

His hands began to snake up around my waist, pushing away my leather coat. His body was crushing my lungs and suddenly I couldn't breathe. If someone didn't help me soon I was surely going to suffocate. Why didn't anybody see me? From the bartender's position it probably looked like we were making out….

And then I could breathe again, and his body was thrown off of me. I could barely see around the bulky mass of Chuck, but from the sudden halt in the noise level in the club, I could tell that someone was going to save me.

I saw him, winding up, his skinny arm barely larger than mine. He was nearly a foot smaller than Chuck, and he must have weighed a hundred pounds less. Yet when his fist made contact with the drunk Chuck, the big guy's head made a full, theatrical turn. And then he fell, leaving me face to face with Ringo. Ringo Starr. My savior, my hero.

And taking one look into his eyes right then, I could tell that was a moment I would remember forever. That was the moment when it all changed.

**AHHHH! YAY! I'm finally here! I've had this scene in my head for SOO long and I wanted it in ink so bad you don't even know. I know that it was shorter than usual, but who cares? I can't wait to see what you guys say! Ah! I can't even talk right now, because I just wrote this whole thing in one sitting and my eyes are BURNING from staring at this screen. SO! I will talk to you in the next update, or you can join the forum by Dani Dragon and talk about all things Beatles there! Thanks so much guys, and REVIEW!**


	12. And I Love Her

**Alright, so I KNOW that I said that I wanted this to be a Paulie chapter, and I swear Paul is going it be in here, but…I have ideas SPEWING out of my head, and I desperately need to write them down. So for now, this is going to be a chapter including ALL of them. Pretty equally, I'd say. I wanted to make it just Paul, but then I thought of something good for George, and I thought, sure, why can't he be in here a little bit, too? But after last chapter, I needed to have Ringo in THIS chapter, because I can't just leave you hanging on that front. But THEN there was some stuff that I needed to cover about John, and I honestly think it can't wait. So the result? One long, long chapter with EACH of them. And sure, I know that isn't the best writing technique, and I should just push off the George-ness or John-ness or Paul-ness…not the Ringo-ness, though. That has to be here. But I don't want to try and figure this out anymore. What I want is to just deliver this update to you all and hope you like it! So, without further ado, this is chapter twelve! (Oh, my damn! Is it really?)**

It all came back to me in a dream.

In said dream, I was flying through the sky, a girl with long, blonde hair clutching my palm. I never saw her face, but I knew she was Lucy, for diamonds twinkled brilliantly around us. Then those beautiful diamonds turned to cigarette embers, falling down to Earth. I fell with them. I landed on a cloud, rainbows dancing in front of my eyes. Ringo, John, and Paul laughed and danced in front of me. I briefly wondered where George was, and when I tried to call out to the three, my voice emanated in a long giggle. We all stopped suddenly, though John kept dancing. I saw a gun out of the corner of my eye, floating down a rainbow towards the prancing John. My face fell, and I started to yell and scream, but my laughter just increased. I looked to Paul and Ringo, but they were not looking at each other, each mad and rooting the gun on. A loud shot rang out, and then John stopped his merriment. With a look of utter shock upon his eyes, he began to fall. Another shot fired-

BAM! I sat up straight in my little bed, only to find that the book I had been read had slipped off my chest, its hard cover slapping to the ground. I ran a hand through my bed-mangled hair, a cold sweat sheening on my face. I couldn't believe that I had forgotten about the sole reason I wanted to come here in the first place!

I rolled out of bed, marching into the shower without noting the time of day. By the time I was clean and dressed and ready for the day, all the boys were sitting in the kitchen. John had his eyes closed and was sipping on coffee, Paul was buried behind the paper, and George and Ringo were fighting over a doughnut. I cleared my throat the moment I walked in.

"Morning boys!" I squeaked tightly, the sight of them causing my heart to flutter. I had been here for little over a month, and I STILL hadn't addressed all the important matters I wanted to in detail!

None of them looked at me, but all muttered in unison, "Morning."

I strode into the middle of the kitchen, deliberating, and tried to decided how best to do this. "I'm going to make breakfast," I announced suddenly.

George looked up at me, gesturing to his claimed doughnut. "But I-"

"I am making fucking breakfast and you will like it!"

Whoa. Um…yeah. Paul peeked around his paper, frowning. George set the doughnut down meekly, only to have it gobbled up by Ringo. John opened one eye amusedly. "Well, it looks like someone's gotten their monthly gift," he commented, making the other three giggle.

I rolled my eyes, turning around and pulling out a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. "Shut up, John. I just feel like making breakfast, that's all."

I could basically feel them all exchanging looks, but then I heard the clink off the coffee mug and the rustle of the newspaper, so I figured they had gone back to their business. Then Ringo started talking.

What I am about to admit is highly personal, so personal the only person I will admit it to is My Thoughts, which BARELY counts. Okay…I maybe might have an itsy bitsy teeny weeny crush on Ringo. And I don't even know for sure if it's just gratitude towards him for saving me two nights ago or if it's genuine. All's I know is that every time he speaks, my heart starts pumping faster. And every time he touches me, it nearly stops altogether. Or how I feel like everything has changed between us. Like every single move he makes, my mind is deciphering it and trying analyzing it. Just thinking about him…oh, God! What the hell is going on here?

"So, Miss A.J., is this how you're going to repay me for the other night?"

I swallowed roughly, trying to breathe normally. This counted as sexual harassment, didn't it? I could always make some witty comeback based on that. But no, now it was too late because I was thinking about it WAY too much. In the end, the only word I could manage was, "No."

"Oh," he said quickly, eager to tease me. "So you plan to do it in some other way…?"

Holy shit! I scrambled the eggs, trying to convince myself that his voice did NOT sound sexy at all. On the contrary, he sounded just like the old Ringo. The old sweet, funny, pretty-blue-eyed Ringo…. Snap out of it, girl! "What are you implying?"

That was good, wasn't it? That sounded A.J.-ish enough, right? I walked a few steps, popping toast in the toaster and trying to keep my back turned as much as possible so that none of them could see the fiery blush that was currently covering my face. This was the simplest form of hell, it really was.

"Oh, luv, I think you know."

I had no idea what to say to that. Luckily, George unknowingly saved me from having to speak. "Oh, leave the girl alone. It's not her fault that she is unable to move two feet without getting into trouble." And, as if to prove his point, I turned around at that exact moment, carrying a glass of orange juice. The moment I saw that I was the object of Ringo's eying, I faltered, stumbling over nothing and making the juice go flying all over John.

He lifted his head to glare at me. "Thanks. That was JUST what I needed." I widened my eyes, for once fearful of the wrath of John Lennon. But I guess he didn't think terrorizing me without me putting up a front was any fun, because he simply shook his head and lowered it once more to the back of the chair.

Ringo and George snickered at me. I shot George a patronizing look (only because I couldn't manage to look at Ringo directly without having a minor heart attack) and turned back around to pour another glass of juice.

George and Ringo chatted happily, Paul even joining in once or twice, while I finished up breakfast. I was too scared to go near John and clean up my spill, so he remained a sticky, orangey smelling mess. Not that he especially seemed to care.

"So," I began once I was sitting down and all five of us had plates in front of us. "I've been meaning to talk to you guys about something."

Paul nodded and smiled. "Ahh, I figured there was an ulterior motive to this 'breakfast'." Air quotes and all.

The other three simply gazed at me. I had no idea how to begin my little speech, only knowing that what I would say was ringing in my ears. I decided to address them individually first. "John."

He looked up at me, his mouth full of eggs and toast. I waited for him to chew and swallow, and I could feel the other boys' eyes on me. Oh, man. I should probably have saved his for last, because once I started talking he was sure to get into Sassy Pants Mode, and then the others would be laughing and I wouldn't be able to talk. Maybe I should just not tell them at all…I mean, I was going to set the course of history off and all….

NO! They all had to know, they all had to be saved. Maybe they would trust me more now that they had been living with me for a while…. Who the hell knew. I might as well just get it out there.

"Yes?" John responded, glancing quickly at Paul before looking back at me. They obviously didn't expect what was coming. That was going to make it all the more harder to say.

"Remember when we first met, and you asked me about your future and…I told you?"

I watched as his expression turned from light to dark within seconds. It was truly frightening, and I subconsciously leaned my head away from him. This was going to be worse than I thought.

"Yes," he replied, simple and gruff.

I nodded slowly. "Riiight." No matter how much I kept putting it off, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was what I was meant to do, the whole reason I had been set to this time period anyways. "So here's the thing."

He looked me square in the eye, daring me to insult him or tell him I wanted him dead or something. Which I would NEVER do, because…well, I'm just not that horrible. "What." It wasn't a question, and the way he just deadpanned it back to me was scary. But I knew he could get WAAY scarier.

"I want to save you," I blurted. This made all the other Beatles (who had been staring at me, trying to decipher how this applied to ANYTHING at all) jaws drop.

"You," George said, pointing at me, "want to save him? John? John Lennon?" He pointed at John.

"No, George. I want to save Paul. That's why I've been addressing him directly and asking him to remember when I was back home and told him he was going to die!"

The guys stared at me, and once again I blushed. "Sorry," I quickly mumbled at my hurt brother, moving on quickly. "I have a lot to cover, so let's get straight to this: on the 8th of December, in 1980, a man named Mark Chapman is going to ask you for your autograph earlier in the day when you leave the recording studio. _This man is insane._" I looked at him, waiting for his face to clear and for him to decide on an emotion. When he finally settled for serious and gave a slight nod of his head, I continued. "Later that day, when you are going home, he will appear again, and he will shoot you. You will die of blood loss in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Do you understand?"

John swallowed roughly, his eyes wide. The other boys around me were looking at him, all worried and with eyes wide. Maybe I had been a bit too forward with him…

"Well, at least it's this Chapman fellow, and not Ringo. And here's me thinking this little lad is going to do me in," he attempted to joke. No one laughed. I ignored the flutter in my chest at the sound of Ringo's name.

"C'mon, John! Don't you see? I can help you! I don't know what good it'll do, but I just always wished I had this chance, this one chance, to save your life!" I stared at him, the raw emotion coming out in my voice. Could he tell that I was beginning to love him as much as I loved the other? I hoped not.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Maybe I don't want your help."

I couldn't believe it. Never in a million years did I think THAT would be what he would say. I mean, come ON! I was talking life, or DEATH here! "I don't fucking care if you don't want it, you need it!"

He continued to glare at me through those beady little eyes. "I don't believe that you want to help me."

"No?" I asked shrilly. "Well, then, swallow your God damned pride for just a SECOND and realize that this isn't all about you!"

He shook his head in disgust. "What other things could happen besides me being SHOT to death? Huh? Tell me that, Ms. Ever-Knowing Oracle."

Now he had tipped me over the edge. I stood up suddenly, knocking down my orange juice AGAIN, though nobody seemed to notice. "Fuck you, John! You act like it's all you, but it isn't!" I turned pointing to George but still killing John with my eyes. "George is going to DIE of fucking CANCER if he doesn't PUT DOWN THAT CIGARETTE THIS VERY SECOND!" George blushed, looking guilty, and immediately snubbed his ciggy. "And you better keep it that way, or else you know what's going to happen."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees at my words, and Paul and Ringo looked up at me with fearful eyes. John's were still fiery, as though asking for more. So I gave him more. "Paul? Yeah, he'll find what I'm PRETTY sure is the love of his life, and then she'll DIE of breast cancer. And after that? Oh, well, dear Paulie will plague himself with the worst line women yet seen!" I looked at him. "Be careful with your money, dude." Then I returned to John. "And that's LOOONG after YOU bite the dust, so tell me how that pertains to YOU!"

He frowned, opening his mouth to say something. "And Ringo!" I could barely speak his name without shivers running down my spine. What I said about him wasn't major, but it was still enough to break my heart to mention. Don't get me wrong, everything had been pretty painful, but you just don't want to admit things bad thing about the boy you have a very minor crush on. And besides, I couldn't look at Ringo at all, but I would assume that he was scared to death. "Ringo will be a pig, just like you John, with his wife, who will try to KILL HERSELF because of the divorce he puts her through. Though, I can't say that he is much better than GEORGE," I turned to look at the boy closest to my age, his poor face breaking my heart. I didn't want to say most of the things I was saying, but they HAD to come out sooner or later. "As our Georgie Boy here with fuck Ringo's wife, and God knows how many other girls while he is still married."

And now, that brought me onto a whole NEW rant. No one could stop me now, not even me. "And speaking of, do I even need to MENTION all the fucking groupies that will swarm around you? Oh, you like that don't you John," I hissed, catching John's exchanged smirk with Paul. "You just LOVE cheating on your wife, excuse me, WIVES countless times, never apologizing, never saying a word. Why, I'm sorry, John. Did I just imply that only YOU do it? Oh, heavens no! IT'S ALL OF YOU!"

I took a step back from the table, running my hands agitatedly through my curls. I was becoming a monster, and I didn't know how to stop me. "And that brings me to my last subject. Something I know for a FACT all of you did. Drugs. And pot, okay, whatever. That won't completely demolish you. But I'm talking fucking acid…you know, I don't even know! Can you believe it, but at one time I didn't want to believe it of you guys! I thought, nah, drugs are terrible, they wouldn't. But you did. You fucking did."

I took another step away from them, knocking into the sink. All four of them were staring at me with the worst expressions. They ranged from scared (Ringo), pissed off (George), blank (Paul), and AMUSED (who do you fucking think?)

"WHAT is funny, John?"

He looked back at me, his face not entirely cold, just…I don't know the word for it. Bitter, maybe. Bitter disappointment mixed in with amusement, with a dash of misery. "It's funny," he began, his voice starting light and humorous, but starting to grow angrier, "because I THOUGHT that you liked us. We liked you well enough. And, call me crazy, but ranting for ten minutes about the horrible things that we've done…you just don't do that to people you like. So tell me, A.J.," he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, "what are you _really _thinking."

I wanted to smack him. I wanted to smack him SO much, I can't even put it into words. And to restrain myself from this smacking, I ran. Right out the door, into the rain, down the street. As far and as fast as my legs would take me. Through the traffic on the street, I couldn't hear the voice calling for me to stop.

"ANNA!" the voice bellowed. Oh, no whoever that was didn't! I wheeled around, ready to have an extreme bitch fit. That's about the time I realized it was Paul.

I froze, wondering why he was following me, and sub-consciously waited for him to catch up. He grinned, upping his jog a little bit, and saying once he was within proper ear-shot, "Oh, I knew that one would get your attention."

I re-gathered myself, then turned around and started back at a brisk pace, hoping he wouldn't match his stride, but at the same time wishing he would. He did.

"So, that was quite something back there, wasn't it?"

He said this as though it was just a mere mention in a casual conversation that we might be having on a light walk through the rain. Bitch please. Like he didn't know exactly what John was probably back at the house saying about me, swearing his head off. No one would defend me, either, because they would either be busy wallowing in self-pity or just as pissed as he was. I would have categorize Paul under 'wallowing in self-pity', but he seemed rather jolly. I sorta wanted to put in his place.

"Paul. I just told John and George how they were going to die, then basically called you all drugged-out cheating losers. I'd say it was a bit more than 'something'." I said this in a straight monotone, staring straight ahead the entire time. But there was just something in my words, something so serious it was almost funny, that made me look at Paul out of the corner of my eye, only to find he was peeking to. Then both pairs of peepers shot forward, and it was silent for a moment before he snorted, and we both burst out laughing. It was the kind of laughter that you don't wanna laugh, and you have no idea WHY you're laughing, but you just can't seem to stop.

"Ha. Oh, what are we gonna do with you, Ms. A.J.?" Paul asked, his tone light and bouncy. I wondered how he could be anywhere near to light and bouncy right now, but I thought it might be overkill to ask.

"Send me back home." This crushed his spirit, I could tell right away.

"Aw, come on now. Are we really that horrible?" He punched my shoulder playfully, but it just came off as a bit too desperate. His arm dropped to his side with a slap.

"No." I looked forward again, trying not to make eye contact. "But I am." I cleared my throat hastily. I didn't want him to deny it, because it was true as anything. And even though I KNEW that what I said earlier was necessary (only it wasn't so necessary to scream about everything), I still felt horrible. BEYOND horrible, even. I felt like the bitch that I knew that I was. The bitch that nobody ever loves in the end. Was I the bad guy? Yes, if we made some movie, I would DEFINITELY be the bad guy, and john would be the funny one everyone secretly adores, and Paul would be the hot one everybody is in love with, and George would be the quiet one who in then end is not so quiet, and Ringo would be the goofy one who in the end realizes that the bad guy is in love with him. But, oh, no! He doesn't love her back because she's a bitch and NO one loves a bitch! And then some tall, beautiful blonde with long, tan legs and flowing blonde hair swoops in and she's all nice and sweet and absolutely perfect for Ringo. And then he runs off with said perfect blonde and leaves the bitch in misery and hell. But no one cares, because she's the bad guy. And the bad guy NEVER wins.

Oh, except I'm not in love with Ringo.

Mmmmm…Ringo.

"But that's what we love about you." He smiled gently, wrapping a comforting (and very wet) arm around my shoulders.

"No one loves me." God, since when did I turn so emo? That was something I would expect out of…I dunno…an emo kid. Ugh, I needed to become more imaginative, too.

Paul disregarded this comment. "You're funny like that, you know?" He laughed distantly, looking out over me at the high in the sky sun. Maybe that's what I needed to get myself out of this horrible feeling-ness. To get high. Wait…WHAT WAS I SAYING? Oh, my God. Too much time in the 60's is NOT good for your health.

"No, I don't know." I looked at the ground, subconsciously leaning into him.

"Well, you happen to brighten everyone's day when you fight with John. Sometimes. And the way you keep all the nasty fans away, that's REALLY great!" He squeezed me into him.

I stopped dead in my tracks, tired of this nonsense. "Paul, stop trying to make me feel better." I stared directly up into his eyes. "It was wrong of me to say those things."

"Okay," he said simply, keeping his arm in place and continuing to walk, therefore dragging me along with him.

I sighed, leaning my head on his shoulder. This made it awkward to walk, and from an outsiders view, we probably looked riDONKulous, but hell if cared right now.

"Hey, if I ask you a question will you freak out at me and start yelling again?" He looked down at me, but I kept my gaze trained on our feet. I knew that if I looked away I would trip. Just because it was me, and all.

"Probably."

"Okay." He looked away once more, but only for a second. Then he looked back at me. "So."

Ugh, he was going to ask anyway. I reluctantly picked my head up, glancing at him and saying, "Shoot."

"How long have you felt like that about Ringo?" he asked immediately. And I have to admit, I sorta felt like yelling again. Sorta.

"Psh, what are you TALKING about?" I rolled my eyes, but my heart was already beating faster, and the redness of my cheeks probably already gave me away. Damned Irish blood.

"I'm TALKING about the color you turn when his name is even MENTIONED, and how you act all differently around him, and the fact that I can practically SEE your pulse right now." He reached over, pressing his index and middle finger to the top of my throat, right under my ear and under the corner of my jaw. He nodded when he felt the roaring beat. His eyebrows raised triumphantly.

I stared up at him, my mouth dropping open. This was devastating news. "It's…it's THAT obvious?"

He chuckled, tightening his hold on me. "Nah, I'm just the only one whoever pays attention in that damned house." He smiled widely. "I won't tell the lads."

I swallowed roughly. They would figure it out soon enough if I kept up the way I was going. "It's only a tiny crush! No big deal. And I swear, it'll go away in a week or two. It's just 'cause he saved me and all."

Paul nodded. "Suuuuuuure."

"No really!"

"Yup."

"LISTEN TO ME!"

"I am."

"James Paul McCartney!"

"Yes?"

"UGH!"

He smiled, and I couldn't hold my grin back any longer. I smacked his chest for making me laugh when I didn't want to. He grabbed my hand, holding it in his, and pulled me out in front of him.

"You know, you really can trust me." His face was suddenly serious, his tone more mature. "I won't tell Rings."

I beamed at him. It was all I wanted to hear. And if I had it my way, Paul was the only one who would ever know. And then when it died down, I'd tell Ringo and we'd have a bit of a laugh over it. No big deal or anything. "Thank you. Really. But…but why would you do that?"

"Because other than the boys (and they barely even count) you're my best friend." He reached down, pushing a piece of hair out of my eyes. "And I love you." Then he ducked his head shyly.

And I love you. That rang in my head, over and over and over. And I love you. "And I love _her_," I whispered, but he didn't hear me. Was I the inspiration for that song? That, actually, was just about my favorite Paul-song (probably) and…wow. It was most likely NOT about me, seeing as he didn't know me when he wrote it but- oh, wait, that was BEFORE they all kidnapped me and brought me here. I wondered how much I was effecting the future by now.

"Aw, Paulie!" I stretched up onto my tip-toes, throwing my arms around his neck. It was a miracle that I didn't have any sort of feeling for him. I mean, he had just said some of the nicest things ANYBODY had ever said, and he was OH so cute, and…okay, he was charming as hell. But putting him into the little fantasies I had made up in my head involving Ringo was quite revolting. No offense to him or anything. "I love you, too," I murmured in his ear. On the way back down, I pecked his cheek. Just like I did to my guy friends back home.

And then I knew, without really knowing, that Paul McCartney would never be the same to me again. Every time I looked at him, I would know that he was the only one who knew my secret. That he was keeping it safe in his mind. And I trusted him, oh, God, did I trust him.

And that was how Paul McCartney became the best friend that I ever had.

**FINALLY! IT'S DONE! This is, officially, the longest thing I've ever put into fanfiction. And that's sad, really, because it's not actually that long. I just think it is because my eyes are literally CLOSING. UGH! Anyways, happy summer guys! I know that I am officially out for the summer, and I am feeling go-od! So drop me a review, tell me what you think, you know the drill. Thanks soooo much for reading, guys! It brightens my day (okay, early morning, but whatever) to write this right now, and to know that soon actual people (my mom doesn't count) will be reading this! Now what are you waiting for? REVIEW, I SAY! **


	13. Misery

**Okay, so today I was VERY bored (yes, already) and I was moping around the house complaining, complaining, complaining. And finally, I guess because she was sick and tired of me, my sister yells at me, saying, "Why don't you WRITE? You are ALWAYS on that stupid laptop!" And I just sorta sit there for a minute, not comprehending this. Write? Ooooooh yeah! I do that sometimes! So that was why I decided to update today. Not because I had to, but because I was suffering from extreme boredom. So! Now that you know some pointless knowledge, I guess I'll do a quick recap. Let's see…so, A.J. just told the boys just about every bad thing that will happen to them, and then she freaks out and runs out of the house, only to be followed by PAUL, who says some UBER sweet things to her and becomes (drumroll please) heeeeeeeeeeeeer bestie! Yay! So, anyways, here's chapter thirteen!**

**Disclaimer: Yes, I fucking know that I NEVER put in a disclaimer. But I guess I probably should…whatever. I'm doing it now so that I never have to do this again. What kinda bullshit is that? Who the FUCK thinks I own the Beatles? If you do, I'm sorry, but you seriously need to lay off the LSD. That's ridiculous. I mean, if I owned the Beatles, I would be very old, super rich, PROBABLY married to Paul McCartney, and totally not wasting my time writing silly stories about them. So…anyways…what was I saying? Oh, yeah…something about a disclaimer. Um…now what? I guess I'm done. Wow, I kinda ranted up there. Sorry. I guess I'll give you a George since you actually read that . :^) (p.s. that smiley's name is George…because he looks like George.) I'm sorry I swear so much. I'm not going to make any excuses, I'm just a potty mouth.**

**Oh! And just a real quick mention right here. Sweeneysbestfriend, I have a surprise for you! Can I just say, she has given me some AMAZING ideas. Yeah, Ringo punching Chuck? Sweeney. Thanks soooooo much!  
**

John wasn't talking to me.

And I, for one, thought that was pretty damn immature of him. I mean, it wasn't like I had personally sought him out for torture! I was trying to HELP the bastard, but nooooo. God. That was SO annoying. And Ringo was not mad at ALL, instead just asking question every five seconds (which was making my heart speed up to an almost unsafe pace. No, really, it was quite terrifying.). And Paul was being as cool as ever about it all. And George…well, okay, George was sulking a bit. But he was the Quiet One. He did that sometimes. I knew he would get over it! The only thing that worried me that was instead of NOT smoking, he was smoking even more. And that had to be stopped. So, three days after the big freaking out scene, I approached him.

We were in the Cavern Club, him surrounded by a girls and hardly smiling. I mean, HE was hardly smiling. The girl were flipping their shit. But, anyways, I strode over to him, tapped on his shoulder, and pulled him aside without saying a thing. The girls watched us, looking at me like they'd like nothing more than to rip my head off. Biiiitch please. I'd like to see them try.

"George-" I began, but he immediately cut me off.

"I'm putting it out, you don't have to keep bitchin' at me!" He looked away, snubbing the burning ember of his ciggy. That little jerk! He wasn't even going to acknowledge the fact that I was trying to save his life!

"Well, sor-ry Mr. Cranky Butt, I wasn't aware that you didn't take your Bitch Pills today." I smirked at him. Swatting away his absentminded attempt to take another cigarette from the box hanging out of his pocket.

"Why are you so mean? Like, honestly. I want a real answer." He turned to stare me straight in the eye.

"I was only kidding, George." I punched his shoulder meekly, but he just continued to look at me. He was going to kill me with those eyes, I swear he was.

"Just answer the damned question."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know! I…I must get it from my grandfather," I snapped, thinking this was the only good thing to say in this situation.

I thought wrong.

"You know, I REALLY regret telling you that. Because then you're just gonna go over there and tell your new buddy Paul, or your boyfriend Ringo. Christ!" He shook his head in disgust.

Okay, I am SUCH a girl. Because after all that, the only thing I could think of was the fact that he knew I had a crush on Ringo. "Ringo is NOT my boyfriend."

"Well, you WISH he was." He glared at me smugly.

"I…I…STOP ACTING LIKE JOHN!" I screeched, and everybody in the house must have heard. My face was a brilliant scarlet, and I just wanted the blush to go away.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. And it's pissing me off."

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

He glowered at me. And here's me, thinking that George was always the sweet, shy, quiet one. And can I tell you something? Just because he didn't raise his voice does NOT mean that he was quiet, or shy, or even sweet. But I knew this angry George wasn't the real George. MY George. (Okay, so not really mine…but my BROTHER George.) And all's I wanted was to have MY George back.

"Why are you acting like this? I'm only trying to help you!" I didn't know where to look, so I just chose his forehead. That way he knew I was looking at him, but he couldn't murder me with those deep brown eyes.

"What do you want me to do? Get down on my fucking knees and tell you how grateful I am? How grateful I am that you told me that I was going to DIE before my family, my mates, basically everyone? I will NOT do that." He turned his nose up at me. That hurt. That REALLY hurt. Because, truth be told, I DID love George. Just as much as I loved Paul. And now he was practically telling me that he hated me.

"No. I don't want that. I want you to take what I've said in stride and then be yourself again. I miss you!" I bit my lip, staring up at him hopefully.

"I can't be me again. So you can leave me alone." And without another word he left me, standing alone, and went back to his girls. They smirked at me, then cooed and giggled when George re-entered their circle. Girls were such bitches.

Well, George was gonna be a lost cause for a little while. That was a depressing thought. So, I sucked it up and moved on to my next target: John. I found him sitting by himself (surprisingly) and sipping at an unidentified drink. I was almost afraid to ask what it was.

"What's up, Johnny?"

He looked up slowly, then scowled when he saw it was me. He didn't say a word, however, and dropped his eyes back down to the bar top. I slid into the stool next to him.

"C'mon! You're not even going to say ANYTHING about me calling you Johnny?" He stared resolutely at the bar. "Nothing?" Nope. Nada. "Okay, then."

I stopped talking, just staring at him. I knew he hated that. I had tested several things, always trying to mad, and I came up with a top three. Number three was calling him Johnny. The only people that EVER called him that were the bar-sluts and Aunt Mimi. Number two was staring. That was becoming a fail, however, as he was still staring hard at counter. His eyes were starting to glaze over. And number one…well, let's just say that was my favorite.

"Don't make me do it, John. Because I totally will." He didn't look at me still. Oh, was he going to regret that. I sighed, standing up and pulling my stool away from the bar a bit. Gingerly, I placed one foot on the seat, then hoisted my entire body up onto it with the next foot. John looked up at me in slow-motion, a look of utter horror seeping onto his features. "Last chance," I told him. But he said nothing.

Let me just say, shoving back some of what John dishes out is PURE delight. No, really, it is. Not only is it self-satisfying, but a LOT of other people admire you once you're done. Let me explain.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in my 'room' and reading. Then, I hear Paul and John walk into the living room. Here's the thing about my 'room's location; you hear a LOT of shit. So, I was expecting to hear something worth teasing Paulie about. I say Paul because John almost NEVER said anything in the living room. Even when my 'wall' was open, he still thought I was listening. Which sounds a LOT like he was paranoid, but in truth he had good reasoning. I was ALWAYS looking for something to comeback at him with.

So, anyways, the two of them are talking and I freeze, not making any noise at all. I hear John say, "Wait! Make sure A.J.'s not in there…"

Paul, always the impatient one, says, "She told me earlier that she was going to go TP Chuck's house with Ringo and George. She's not in there." Okay, so yes, I DID say that. And okay, yes, I did DO that. But Chuck was still pissed, so I would never admit to such things.

"Just listen for a second," John insisted, and for a moment I thought they might have heard the insane pounding of my heart. This was going to be good…

"I'm telling you, she's NOT in there!" Paul returned after a moment's silence. Thank God, they didn't hear me.

"Fine…" I heard John's intake of breath. "Never does this leave me and you, okay? It would kill me." OH, MY GOD THIS WAS GOING TO BE SO GOOD!

I heard nothing, so Paul must have nodded or something. There was another pause, and I considered barging out of my 'room' and pinning John down and FORCING him to spill. But it turned out that wouldn't have been necessary.

"Okay, so you know Pam? The girl that hates George now?" They both chuckled. That girl was as weird as they get. Polythene Pam. Oh, God.

"Ha, yeah, what about her?"

Butterflies tickled my stomach in anticipation. "Well…" John said slowly, "we…"

"You…?"

He cleared his throat. I still didn't get it. They what…?

OH, MY GOD!

"NO!" Paul cried. And if he hadn't been so loud at that moment, they surely would have heard my own outburst. That was…okay, that just disgusting. Even for John.

"Yeah. Last night. I mean, she's actually not that bad…"

"Yeah, when you're falling down drunk!" Paul exclaimed, only to be shushed by John.

"Quiet! I don't want Her to hear you!"

"Pam? Why not?" His voice was layered with confusion.

"No! A.J.!"

Paul snorted, but I heard no further noises from John. I was trying SO hard not to fall off the bed from laughter, but my want for further details kept me silent.

"That's pretty bad, mate." Paul muttered. Um, YEAH! That was worse than bad…that was God damned horrible!

"I'm not done." John's voice lowered conspicuously. "It's worse."

"How the hell could it get worse?" Paul wanted to know. I could almost hear the look of terror that was on his face.

"I…I…I…I liked it, okay?" This was a total OMG moment. John liked Polythene Pam!

"John that's…I don't know what to say." Paul sounded like he was utterly lost for words.

"Don't tell anyone."

And this, my friends, was the perfect time for me to start laughing. And so I did. It came out suddenly, like a cough, and I thought THAT was even funnier. And then I was quite literally rolling on the floor laughing. I think I might have pulled a muscle. Because really? That was quite hilarious. Then John ripped back my wall, and the look on his face made me laugh even HARDER.

"John…loves…Pam…" I gasped, clutching my stomach. I was still cackling madly at the whole situation.

"Shut up! Paul, she was here!" He sounded miserable, and that was even FUNNIER.

So then I picked myself up from the ground and took a couple of deep breaths. "Hey, Paul," I whispered, still struggling for breath. John stood frozen, looking like he wanted to kill me. "Do you want to know a secret?" I asked in a sing song voice.

"Um, sure?" Paul looked quite amused, too, but I think he was desperately trying to hold on to his composure.

"Do you promise not to tell?" I sang, even louder. John's face was bright red, but even the heat there couldn't melt his feet from the ground.

Paul snorted again, and started to play along. "Yup."

"Closer," I beckoned towards him, "let me whisper in your ear." I was not all that great of a singer, but nothing embarrassing, and I was full out singing the song that John wrote, but George sung.

And on it went from there, until John was dark, dark crimson and finally he reached out and bopped me in the back of the head. And then we commenced to fight until I realized it was a lost cause as he was more than a half a foot taller than me. And then I ran.

So when I stood up on that stool, John MUST have been expecting what was coming. Or he was fucking stupid, because why else would I stand up on a chair in a bar? Seriously.

"LISTEN!" I screamed suddenly, and John's face turned the whitest shade I had ever seen it. Still he made no move to yell at me or knock me down. "DO YOU WANT TO KNOW A SECRET?" Most everybody turned to look at the little girl who was making a complete fool herself. Yeah, I knew it, but it would be worth it.

The only one in the Club that seemed to realize what was going on was Paul. "YEAH!" he shouted back to me. A few people in the place snickered, and John abruptly turned from white to pink. Still he determinedly ignored me.

"DO YOU PROMISE NOT TO TELL, WOH, WOH, WOH," I sang at the top of my lungs. The coloring of John's face was truly amusing.

I received a chorus of 'YEAH!'s. "CLOSER! LET ME WHIPER IN YOUR EAR!" I crooned, waggling my finger at them. "I'LL THE SAY THE WORDS YOU LONG TO HEAR!"

Paul was in the corner, laughing his ass off, and George was even smiling a bit at my imitation of him. Of course, he looked away as soon as I glanced at him. "JOHN'S IN LOVE WITH PAM, OOOHH!"

There was a sudden burst of giggles, followed by more, and then they were chanting my name. I heard the sudden squeal of metal against hardwood as John pushed away from the bar, then the shouts of protests as he reached his hands up and pulled me down from my standing spot. "Shut the FUCK up, A.J.!"

"Oh, John, you're talking to me again! Whatever changed your mind?" I batted my eyelashes innocently. I saw his eyes flash, and for a second I was almost scared. But then I thought better of it.

"You're lucky that the other lads are here, because otherwise I would have knocked you out by now." He scowled at me, some random guy elbowing him as he passed and smirking.

"Oh, you're such a nice guy, John."

He grunted. "Now WHAT is it that you wanted to tell me so badly?" He was staring me down, and it was starting to freak me out. He had weird eyes. Then I was reminded that I had the same exact ones, only blue.

"Ummm…" In truth, there was nothing that I really had to say. I just missed bickering with him. So then I had to use my infamous Quick Thinking. Let me just say, there was not a whole lot of actual thinking involved in Quick Thinking. It was more just blurting the first thing that came to mind. "What's a bint?"

John choked on the mouthful of alcohol he had been swallowing. He coughed for a second, then looked at me incrediculously. "What?"

"What. Is. A. Bint?" I repeated, still staring at him. Why was I asking that? Where had I heard that before? Ohhh, that's what he called me that first night! He called me 'bloody bint' and I had been all offended though I still to this day had no idea what that was.

He frowned, as if asking if I was serious. Apparently I was, because he answered me. "A bint is a bad name for a bird." He seemed to rethink this. "A bad name for a TRASHY bird."

Oh. OH! "Hey! You called me that!"

He snickered. Good, I got him laughing. "Well, before you I had never seen a bird dressed so."

I cringed at one particular word in the sentence. "And why do you keep calling girls 'birds'? We're human beings, not animals." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"_Barely _human beings," he corrected me.

"Um, excuse me?" When he just looked at me, I went on. "You are such a…a…PIG!" Why did I even want to talk to him in the first place? What was the point? He was NEVER going to change!

"Really? Well why do you keep calling me a 'pig'? I'm a human being, not an animal." He threw my previous words right back into my face. Shit. I had set myself up for that one.

"Oh, you're a human being?" I retorted. "That's funny, because you LOOK like an animal to me!"

His mouth twisted into a sneer. "I know you are but what am I?"

"John, I swear to God, we are NOT starting this. You act like you're five." I rolled my eyes aggressively.

"I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!"

"JOHN!"

"What?"

"Are you a donkey's butt?"

"Er, no…"

"Then why are you acting like such an ASSHOLE!"

* * *

Ringo pushed through the crowd, trying to find a familiar face. He found Paul, sitting in a corner and chatting up three different girls at the same time. "Hey, I'm taking off, okay?"

Paul looked over at him, something different in his eyes. Then that was gone, and the casualness was back. "Alright. I'll tell the lads and A.J." Was it just him, or did Paul put a little bit of stress on A.J.? He glanced over at the girl. She was fighting with John.

"Hey, look, John and A.J. are going at it again." He smiled.

Paul followed his gaze, then chuckled lightly. "Ha. Yeah. Looks like everything in the world is normal again."

* * *

I don't care what John says, I won that fight.

**Aw, I liked this chapter! Anyways, I'm gonna be gone for a week. And where I'm going involves some heavy car trips, so I'll probably get a LOT of writing done. So expect an update as soon as I get back! And, by the way guys, thank you SO much for supporting me. You've really made this story all the more fun to write. And oh! I closed my poll a while ago, but if you didn't see George won! Haha, yeah, but by now that doesn't mean anything. And it's kinda funny, because Ringo came in last! And I don't know why people would vote for John if he's her grandfather…but whatever! Some people are sick minded…and that's weird. But if that's your thing more power to ya…or not. Alright, so I'm done talking, and thanks again for everything! Review, bitches. Or if you don't like that, review, people. I, personally, like bitches better. BYE!**


	14. Get Back

**Sorry, guys, but this really isn't my best work. I like to try and make things humorous, because I KNOW how boring some chapter can be and then you just want them to end. This, I'm afraid, is going to be something along those lines. Except with the Beatles. So…less boring maybe? I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Okay! Now it's time for chapter fourteen!**

I was happy. Skipping happy. And that was exactly what I was doing.

"A.J., you freak, stop that!" George called from behind, chuckling. That was exactly why I was so happy. It seemed that me and George were good again. I don't know why; I think the boys had a word to him about it, but he was talking to me again. Happily talking to me. Hence the skipping.

"No!" I called down the street. We were on our way home from the studio, and usually at this time of day the girls would be freaking out. But they had followed John, Paul, and Ringo, and it was only a matter of time before it got through their stupid minds that the youngest Beatle was absent. But until then, George was happy to accompany me on a 'walk'. Or a skip. Whichever you preferred.

"Get back here!" I turned around, stuck my tongue out at him, then broke out into a run, turning down a street that we didn't usually take on the way home. I was three houses down the block when I stopped dead, staring at the fourth. Rather, who was outside the fourth.

In this time, George caught up with me. "Hey!" he yelled, then stopped next to me, breathing heavily, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, I pointed to the man that was tending to his garden just a couple feet away. He was humming to himself, apparently unaware of us. George cocked his head, trying to figure out who the man was.

"Wait…that's…"

"PAPA!" I screamed suddenly, my body turning back on. It was like a flash from the past-or rather, from the future. Doctor Robert Ryan, the man my mother had called father for all of her remembered life, looked up. A grin slowly slid onto his face.

"Ah, there's my girl," he drawled in that thick Irish accent. My mind clouded over with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Wasn't he supposed to be in America with Maggie Mae? Weren't they to be married? How did he know who I was if I wasn't even born yet?

I walked over to him, in a daze, letting George trail behind me silently. I didn't know what he was thinking because I couldn't see his face, but I could practically feel his distrust.

"What…I don't understand..." I was at a complete loss for words.

"I knew you'd find me sooner or later." He chuckled deeply. "Why don't you come inside and I'll explain some things."

I nodded slowly, then turned to George. He was, indeed, staring at Papa with narrowed eyes. "You can bring your friend along," Doctor Robert added, already peeling off his gloves and wiping off his trousers.

We strode quietly into the small brick house, not taking our eyes off the back of Papa's head. Now that I knew the truth-that John was my grandfather, not Robert-I saw signs of it everywhere. There were the physical traits; Papa had big, round, startlingly green eyes (unlike our narrow blue ones) and thin, light pink lips (VERY unlike our full, dark red ones). He walked with his feet perfectly straight, while both me and my mother (but not Maggie Mae) walked with our feet pointed outwards, sorta like a duck. And think about this logically, if both your parents don't have something that you have, where do you think you get it? Of course my mother wasn't stupid, but she wasn't naïve enough to just automatically assume that John Lennon was her real father if she shared something physical with him that no one else in her family had. I mean, come on. What were the chances of that?

However, there were also the personality things. I had always grown up believing that your personality was directly influenced by your parent, and little quirks that you may have were sent straight down from Mom and Dad. Take your sense of humor. The Gramma and Papa I knew were both happy-go-lucky people. They weren't sarcastic and temperamental like my mom. So where would she get that? C'mon, at this point, do you even have to ask? It was funny how it all kinda made sense. If it didn't, there was no way I would ever have believed George when he told me in the first place. But all the signs were there.

We sat at the table in the kitchen, Robert bustling around to make us our tea. When he sat down again, he had with him three scorching hot cups. I took mine gratefully, wanting something to calm the uneasy feeling that was welling in my stomach.

"So," Papa began, "I'm sure there are a few things you'd like to ask me, aren't there?"

I swallowed roughly, glancing at George. He was still glaring at Robert. "Um, I would say so."

He nodded, waving his hand and signaling me to ask away. "Okay. How do you know about me?"

Papa smiled gently. "The same way I was able to send the young men to get you."

I was about to say something when George interrupted. "Yeah, and we never DID get our money from that."

The doctor looked at him and said simply, "Oh, you will."

George knitted his thick brow together, but said nothing. He was probably pondering this the same way I was thinking about the answer to MY question. "So you're…a time traveler or something?"

George snorted incrediculously. But Papa answered, rather simply, "More or less."

We both turned to stare at him, me excitedly and hanging on his every word, George disbelievingly. "How does that work?" I wanted to know.

"Are you kidding me?" George hissed. "You don't really think he's telling the truth, do you A.J.?" They both stared at me, and I felt myself blushing.

"I…er...well…he's my grandfather! I always believe him." That was the truth wasn't it? I mean, ever since I was a little girl I just accepted that what Papa said was law. He was extremely smart, always wise, and thinking that he might lie or be wrong about something…that didn't sit right with me.

"No, actually he's not." I dropped my jaw, not quite believing that George had said that.

What surprised me most was that Papa just nodded along, as though this was the truest thing he had ever heard. What is that?

"But you practically raised me! How can you even go along with that?" I asked, addressing Robert.

He shrugged. "It's true."

"And you never told me. What is that?" I was getting kinda mad.

"Well, WE never told your mother either. So, rationally, why would we have told you, sweetheart?"

"Don't you sweetheart me, Papa." George chuckled. "Do you think that was easy for me to hear? I mean…John Lennon? Really? You would think that Gramma would want to tell everybody. But noooo."

He frowned. "You think she was proud of that? Would you be?"

I didn't know what to say. "So…uh…speaking of her, where is she?"

Papa just grinned cheerily. "Oh, she's off to the States. I'll be followin' her in a couple of weeks."

There was something nagging at me. "Why didn't you go with her right away?"

Papa's smile faded slightly, looking at me as though it were obvious. "Well, I had to stay here for you, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever you decide to go back home, I have to be here, don't I?"

George stood up suddenly, making the table shake and my raised cup of tea splash on my face. "Okay, that's it. Time to go."

I looked up at him questioningly. "Huh…?"

He grabbed my arm, tugged me up from my chair. Papa sat back watching the scene with a dull expression.

"But-wait! How will I know when it's _really _time to go?" I asked as I was pulled through the front door. George didn't even say anything, just continued to stalk out angrily.

"You'll know," Papa called to me, "when it's time, you'll know."

When we were half-way down the block, George released me, his hands shooting up and going through his hair agitatedly. I watched him, wondering what he was so fired up about.

"What is your problem?" I asked him, crossing my arms.

"MY problem? That guy is a…a…LUNATIC!" He shook his head exasperatedly, as though I was some silly little girl who didn't know any better.

"Hey! That's my grandpa!"

"Will you stop saying that? He is NOT! John is!"

"No, George. Actually, he's not." I thought this over. "Well, technically, yes. But I've grown up with him, and he's never been anything but sweet and caring and everything a grandfather SHOULD be to me. And John's…well, he's an asshole."

George stared blatantly at me, as though wondering how this could ever be true. "Well that's only because John doesn't know that he really was Jeanie's father. I mean…if someone told him, I'm sure he'd be nicer."

I snorted. "I'm not gonna be the one to tell him that. It's hardly any of my business."

"Actually," George corrected me, "it is every bit your business."

We looked at each other, and I could practically see the light bulb pop over his head. But before he could open his mouth, I was ready. "No," I said bluntly.

He gave me his best puppy dog face. "Please? Maggie Mae's gone, so it's not like he can actually do anything. And she'll never know he knows! And then-"

"George, if Maggie didn't want him to know, then he shouldn't know. He may be my grandfather…but she was my grandmother first, if that makes any sense."

George sighed, shrugging in defeat. "Whatever. We can talk about this later. Right now we need to get home."

The walk home was a quiet one, each of lost in our own thoughts. I didn't want John to know what he really was to me. Somehow I thought that that would only make things worse between us. No, I decided, it was MUCH better if he didn't know.

"Hey!" George called once we were inside.

There was a muffled response, and we found them all in the living room. Ringo had his sticks, Paul had his bass, and John was holding George's guitar. They looked up when we entered.

"Hey!" Ringo greeted cheerily. "We were just getting home when inspiration struck. We weren't sure when you two would be back." He raised his eyebrows suggestively at George. John laughed, but Paul didn't even look up, plucking something out on his instrument.

"What? Never mind that. Guess who we ran into?" George looked around at them all expectantly.

"Elvis?" John guessed.

"The Pope?" That was Paul.

"A.J.'s ti-" Ringo started to say, but Paul nudged him in his ribs. I shot Paul a grateful look. Even though I wasn't sure what Ringo was going to say, I really didn't need him making fun of me. That could be crippling at this point.

George pointed to Ringo. "Don't even go there." Then he addressed the room as a whole. "I officially met A.J.'s grandfather today."

"Meeting the family already?" John asked, earning a snicker from Ringo. George and I exchanged a glance. That was ironic, wasn't it?

"Don't you get it? He wants to send her back!"

The room was suddenly silent. I looked up at George. "He didn't say that..."

"He implied it."

He was staring at me, daring me to contradict him. "He said…that he was going to be there for me when I wanted to leave."

"Well, where could he possibly be going?" John inquired, raising his eyes up to mine. I blushed, not wanting to tell him the truth.

"To America." I didn't elaborate.

John nodded, his eyes distant. Paul frowned, thinking over what was said. "But…what if you don't ever want to go back?"

"Well, I have to go back sometime," I reasoned, thinking this was obvious. Apparently it wasn't so obvious.

All four of them stared at me blankly. Finally, Paul said, "Why?"

That was a little bit much. I mean…I HAD to go back, didn't I? It was absolutely necessary. If it wasn't, I would stay here with my happy little crush and my idols. "Life goes on! I mean, I have an entire life back home! I have a family and a house and…" Uh-oh. "And a sorta boyfriend."

That was something I certainly had thought about in a long time. I had been so caught up in this whole Beatles thing, I had forgotten my life back home. "I have two brothers," I mumbled, semi-aware that I was more talking to myself than to them. "Two little brothers, and they have to have SOMEONE to look up to. And I have my great-aunt Val living at my house that I have to take care of. And I have parents who'll freak out if I never come home. Hell, they're probably freaking out already!"

The three boys in sitting in front of me had their heads down, not meeting my eye. And George, I don't know. I would have to look up to see what he was thinking, and I didn't think I could quite manage that at this time.

"So when are you going then?" George asked. I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head, but I promised myself I wouldn't look at him.

"I don't know. He told me I'd know, remember?" I still didn't look at George. I was afraid he'd be mad at me again. And I didn't want that.

It was quiet, then, "So, you never told us you had a boyfriend."

I stared at John unashamedly. "It never came up."

Ringo, who was sitting closest to me, reached over and flicked George's arm. "Don't worry Georgie Boy. It's obviously not that serious if it never came up."

Huh? What's that supposed to mean? I snuck a look at George, and he was looking just as confused as I felt. Still, I didn't want Ringo to know about him. He wasn't really all that important, I guess, and the way I was feeling for Ringo was WAY more than I had ever felt for him. And that wasn't saying much, as what I felt for Ringo was really just a small crush. Mostly.

"What was his name?" Paul asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on the top of his bass. If it were two months ago, when I first came here, I would have practically been swooning at the mere sight of him. But now it kinda made me laugh at how the girls worshipped him.

"Des," I answered, glad that we were moving on.

"Des?" he asked, a little bit incrediculously. "What kinda name is that?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "Des as in Desmond. You know…like in Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da?"

They all looked at me like I was crazy. "Oops…" I muttered.

"What the hell is that?" Ringo wanted to know. He was probably thinking it was some sort of cult or something.

"A song."

"By who?"

I looked around, a little bit uncomfortable. "Actually, it was something some Jamaican guy or something said, but then Paul or John or someone heard it and they liked it so-"

"And this Jamaican guy? Would that be this Des?" Ringo queried, raising one eyebrow.

"No, Des is my sorta boyfriend." I REALLY didn't want to talk about this. It was actually quite uncomfortable.

"No! God, you're so stupid guys, Des is her SORTA boyfriend," John mocked, putting on a fake American girl accent. Then he stopped. "What the fuck is a sorta boyfriend."

"You know…" I muttered. "He's sometimes my boyfriend, sometimes not." I looked off to the side awkwardly.

"That's ridiculous."

I narrowed my eyes at John, a little bit tired of this conversation. "Oh, you think so? Because if I recall correctly, you had a LOT of girls like that. Yeah, but you didn't call them SORTA girlfriends. Nah, you called them WIVES!"

And just like that, BAM! Conversation terminated. Because then John stood up, George and Paul backed off, and Ringo cowered where he sat, stuck in the middle of us. I really didn't want to go through this again with Ringo right there, because it wasn't very feminine of me to basically get into a fist fight with one of his best friends.

But before John could step toward me and retort, Ringo shot up, standing between us. "Will you two knock it off for just five seconds?"

"One…" I counted.

"Two…" John tallied.

"Three…"

"Four…"

"Five," we said at the same time.

"Um, that was my turn," I snapped, crossing my arms.

"Actually, because five is an odd number, and you got 1 and 3, and I got 2 and 4, then I think it was only fair that we SPLIT 5."

"Well, we're not splitting anything when you're yelling over me."

"Oh, that wasn't yelling. You wanna hear yelling?"

"STOP IT!"

We both looked at little Ringo (okay, from my vantage point, he wasn't exactly 'little'. But from almost everybody else's view, he was considered just as tiny as me…for a guy) in surprise. The thing was, Ringo wasn't usually the yeller. Sure, he was always the peacemaker. But usually me and John were the yellers, George was the hider, Paul was the runner, and Ringo was the talk-it-outer. And that was the way these things worked, and it always worked out well. But now Ringo was the yeller and it was throwing our whole balance off.

And it was also kinda turning me on.

"Now, John. I understand that you feel threatened by A.J." John opened his mouth to protest, but Ringo silenced him. "And A.J., I understand that you are frustrated by John." I rolled my eyes. That was an understatement. "But for the sake of me, George, and Paul, could you PLEASE just be civil with one another?"

We both regarded him differently. John was glaring, but I must have been looking at him with all the feelings that I've been bottling up in my chest pouring out of my eyes.

He turned to me first. "A.J., would you please, for me, stop fighting with Ringo?" He looked deeply into my eyes. God, what gorgeous eyes. They were crystal clear, the purest blue you've ever seen. I felt myself getting lost in them, drowning in their perfect waters. I subconsciously started leaning towards them, longing to fall into their magical pools. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah," I choked, blushing at the girly sound of my voice. From the corner of the room, I could see Paul gagging. Above Ringo, I could make out John's disgruntled face. He cocked his head as Ringo nodded sharply and turned to him.

"Sure," he said before Ringo could ask him what he asked me. "But I have one condition."

Oh, shit. This was not going to be good. "Okay…?"

He was barely holding back a chuckle. "You have to tell me what that was all about."

AHHHHH! SAVE ME PAUL! I looked over at him desperately, while Ringo looked between us confusedly. He was obviously wondering what in God's good name was going on. John was giving me this smug look, and I figured I had three choices. For one, I could admit it. I could drop to my knees and profess my undying love for the man that was standing before me. Alright, maybe 'undying love' was a little bit extreme. But you know. Second, I could play dumb. That had worked before, hadn't it? I searched my head to remember I time when this had ever helped me in life. Well, it had certainly worked for years with my brothers. But thinking about them made me homesick, so I moved on. My third option, I figured, was what I always did; run.

But I thought I'd change it up a little bit. And since I would NEVER do what I should, I decided to play dumb.

"What are you talking about, John?" I widened my eyes, hoping he would catch my drift.

He laughed coldly. "Are you kidding me? You looked like you were about to-"

"Okay!" Paul burst loudly, coming through for me. "I think that it's time for something to eat, because I sure am hungry."

Ringo nodded, then sped out of the room. John frowned. "Hey! You didn't answer me!"

"Oh, come on. Do I really need to?" I was the brightest red I think I've ever been, and that's saying something.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed wildly, pointing to my face. "Someone likes R-"

I clapped my hand over his mouth desperately. "No, John, don't! I'll do anything!"

"Wait…" George murmured. "A.J. likes-" But he was cut off by Paul, who had followed suit from me.

"This doesn't leave any of us." I looked them both squarely in the eye. "Is that understood?"

"How come you told Paul, but you didn't tell me?" George whined. I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't tell him anything." That was the truth, wasn't it? And Paul certainly hadn't told, so it was okay.

"I can't believe you like him!" John hissed. I shrugged.

"Why not?"

"Because…" He bit his lip, looking for a valid reason. "He has a really big nose."

I gasp. "Take that back!" So what if that's true? Noses are noses. You can't change that! Well, you can…but that wasn't something Ringo would ever do.

"No!" he barked defiantly.

Just then, the door to the living room opened and out comes Ringo, munching on an apple. "Didn't I just tell you two to stop fighting? NOW what is this about?"

I close my eyes, knowing what was about to come next. Because John Lennon, I know, LOVES to humiliate people. He thrives off the awkwardness. It's sick, really.

"Nothing," John said. I let out the breath I was holding. And that was the end of that.

Thank you oh kind Lord…and John.

**AHHHHHHH! JOHN KNOWS! Actually, I SHOULD say that they all know…except for Ringo. And I wonder how that's gonna go, seeing as they're all WAY close and everything? Hmmmm…do you think John'll tell? I wonder. Because really, in my view, he's a pathetic excuse for a human being. And he's pretty damn heartless. Yeah, I know, I know. He's not actually living anymore. And when he died, he was actually not that bad of a person. But, guys, I'm not focusing on that. Right now I'm focusing on the fact that you all need to REVIEW!**


	15. Birthday

**I need to take a deep, calming breath. Wanna know why? BECAUSE I'M SO FREAKING EXCITED FOR THIS CHAPTER! I've been waiting to write this and have you guys read it for, like, MONTHS! Or whenever I started the damned thing. I don't even remember. Isn't that sad? ANYWAYS! While I am very excited to be putting this up, I am ALSO very depressed about having to write the next one. I don't wanna say too much here because, you know, you're gonna read it and all, but…I don't know. I will say one thing. I LOVE to write love stories. It's my thing. I might say, if I was living in the sixties or seventies, that it's my bag. Scandalous, right? But the thing is, I like to write REAL love stories. And real love stories, we all know, aren't always perfect. Most of them aren't, actually. Because love is about realizations and overcoming things and all that Romeo and Juliet crap. SO! Now that I've thoroughly bored you with my rantings, here is the ever-awaited (by me) chapter fifteen!**

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

George looked up sleepily as Paul and I paraded into his room, throwing our arms up and cheering. He rolled over, mumbling a quick, "Get out."

"Oh, don't be that way, Georgie! You're only nineteen once!" Paul plopped himself down next to his half-asleep friend.

"Actually," John corrected, striding into the room mock-arrogantly, "he'll be nineteen for three hundred and sixty five days."

"Oh, look!" I fake-squealed right back. "John can count! Wow, he's so witty AND funny AND cute!"

John narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I am, A.J. Thanks for noticing."

I opened my mouth to retort, but George finally sat up in bed. "Really guys? On my fucking birthday?"

John looked over at him, as though debating if George's happiness overpowered my unhappiness. Finally, he sighed, returning to glaring at me. "Fine. But I still won this one."

I smirked. "Yeah? Does George fight ALL your fights for you?"

John's face twitched, and for a second I thought he was going to reach over and punch me. That wiped the smile clean off my face. But before any more words could be exchanged, Paul cut in.

"ANYWAYS! To celebrate the fact that Georgie Boy here is one year older, tonight drinks are on Ringo!"

Ringo. The name hit me with more force than it should have. Seriously, it was having staggering effects to my heart. I thought it was literally going to beat of my chest. But they were making fun of him! How dare they! Ringo was the sweetest, nicest, cutest boy on the planet Earth. He deserved to be defended.

"Oh, come on! Why's it always Ringo?"

They were all chuckling at Paul's comment, but now they were staring straight at me. No one said anything for a second, and then, "Not everybody is as in love with the lad as you are."

I must have been redder than a cherry at that very second. How could they even THINK I was in love with him? I was NOT under any circumstances having any feelings for him other than that MINOR crush I used to have. I mean, I still have. But it's not even that big of a deal. It's just because of the way he saved me and all. It's probably going to fizzle out any SECOND now. And okay, ever since the Chuck incident it's only gotten a little bit stronger. But all things that go up must come down…right?

I turned and stared at John. He was the one that had said it. A million different thoughts were rushing through my mind, and I could tell he was smugly waiting for my bitchy answer.

Except, I couldn't give him what he wanted. Because seriously? All of those wild and crazy thoughts that were just in my mind a second ago had vanished, and the only one that remained was Ringo's face when John told him the truth. Because that undoubtedly was going to happen. I mean, I'm not stupid; it's John.

"Don't tell him," I practically begged. And my face must have been pretty damn serious, because he didn't smile or laugh at me. He simply crossed his arms and cocked his head. Paul and George looked on with wary expressions. This was going to be bad.

"What's in it for me?"

"Seriously, John? Seriously? Paul and George would do it for me, simply because I asked them not to say anything! Now why is that so hard?" I was regaining my composure slowly. All I needed now was for Ringo himself to walk into the room. NOT!

"Because I don't like you and you don't like me. Now what's in it for me?" He continued to stare at me hardly, but when he said the part of us not liking each other, I couldn't help but glance over at George. He gave me a sympathetic half smile.

I sighed. "Whatever you want." Under normal circumstances, I would have NEVER given in. But these we by no means normal circumstances. This was life and death. It would ruin EVERYTHING if Ringo knew how I felt about him. Which wasn't any huge thing, by the way. I mean, sure, he was cute and funny, and he constantly put up with John's crap and he ALWAYS had a smile on his face. Oh, and could make me laugh without hardly even trying. And he stood up for me. Ha, and then he does that cute little bob thing with his head whenever he's playing the drums. Yeah…

Whoa! SNAP OUT OF IT! There were more important issues at hand at the moment.

"Fine. But it has to be WHATEVER I want." He smiled that signature Lennon smile. DAMN THAT SMILE!

"Whatever," I promised. If I was talking to George, I would have stuck out my pinky. If I was with Paul, I would have squealed and hugged him. But I was with John. Which meant that I could do nothing but nervously await my chore.

"I'll think about it," he informed me. This led me to believe that it was going to be REALLY bad, whatever it was. And that made me scared.

He wandered out of George's room, completely involved in his own devious thoughts. I turned around to face the other two. "Oh, shit!"

George nodded, patting my head like a dog as he walked out of the room. "I feel sorry for you!" he called over his shoulder. Seconds later we heard the shower burst to life.

I looked at Paul, completely hopeless. "He's gonna tell no matter WHAT I do!"

Paul bit his lip. "There's a simple solution."

"Which is?"

"Tell Ringo before John does."

I gave him my best 'Boy, you crazy!' look. "Are you kidding me? The whole point of this is so that Ringo DOESN'T find out!"

"So you're never gonna tell him?"

"No, John is."

"But even if John didn't know. You would have told him eventually," Paul reasoned. I gave him another look. He had OBVIOUSLY never had a crush before. Stupid Paul. All the girls just flocked to him.

"That wasn't exactly the plan."

"Well, what WAS the plan?"

"The plan was to just keep that all inside and buried deep, so nobody knew at ALL."

Paul looked down at his hands, then back up at me with an impish smile. "That was a really horrible plan."

Sitting down next to him, I smacked his arm. "Shut up," I ordered.

"Yes ma'am."

I rolled my eyes. "Ringo can NEVER find out. That would completely ruin our friendship." When the FUCK did everything get so complicated? That is what I would like to know.

"So you never want to take things further?" Paul asked, his brow furrowed. "I thought you liked him…?"

"I DO. I like him so much I never want to put him in that situation." Did that make sense? I think so. To ME it made sense. To someone like Paul it was probably the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"I know what'll make you forget ALL about that!" Paul suddenly exclaimed, bouncing on the bed with this new excitement.

"What?" I wanted to know, honestly curious for this newfound cure for confusion.

"Well, I meant what I said. We're going out for drinks tonight for George's birthday."

"Okay…"

"Why don't you come?"

I frowned, kind of offended. "I already thought I was invited…" When they went out, they usually took me with them. Coming back was a whole different story, however, as I ALWAYS came back home, and most of the time I was without any Beatles (if you catch my drift).

"Of course. But I think you should participate in ALL festivities." He waggled his eyebrows, making me laugh again.

"I think NOT, my friend."

"Oh, c'mon! You can't hang with the Beatles and ruin our spotless reputation without swiping the V-card!" EW! Hearing THOSE words come out of HIS mouth made me wanna puke. But I didn't. Instead I pressed my palms flat over my ears, humming loudly and blocking him out.

"LALALALALALA!" I started to sing when I could hear his chants of 'A.J. is a virgin' over the humming.

Just then, the door swung open, revealing George, who was mid-drop with his towel. It was as though everything happened in slow motion. My hands came off my ears and landed on my lap with a slap, and Paul's mouth remained open, though no sound was coming out. I swear, you could hear a PIN drop. But that wasn't what dropped. What dropped was George's towel. And me and Paul? We saw EVERYTHING.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" I screeched, pushing past a blushing George who was STILL naked and STILL in the doorway. "OH, MY FUCKING GOD!"

Paul was right behind me, yelling, "MY EYES, MY EYES!"

We collapsed in a heap on the couch, me trying to get that mental image OUT of my head, and Paul practically hyperventilating. George bustled into the living room (WITH his towel on, thank God) seconds later. "Oh, sod off before John comes in."

Neither of us looked at him, both turning to look at each other. "It was…so…WHITE!" I gasped, my throat beginning to burn from screaming. Then we both started giggling, because really? That would be probably be funny for anyone ELSE to see.

Once we started, we could NOT stopped. Paul fell off the couch, holding his abs, tears streaming down his face. I was laughing at the sight of him, and I thought I would never be able to breathe normally again.

George huffed, turning around and heading back to his bedroom. "Happy birthday, George…" he muttered to himself.

* * *

Oh, GOD were they drunk.

"…an-and then, George dropped 'is towel, because he didn't know we were there and all, and we both…we SCREAMED. It was so funny. 'n't that right, A.J.?"

Paul tried to focus on me, but he was swaying dangerously. He reached forward, trying to give me a playful punch, but ended up losing his balance and doing a nosedive to the floor. He looked up at us all, still chuckling mercilessly. "Ouch," he said. This sent him into another round of hysterics.

Me? Sure, I drank, but NOTHING like the boys did. My body simply couldn't tolerate that much alcohol. That's not to say that I couldn't hold my liquor, but let's just say that I knew when enough was enough.

Paul didn't seem to have that ability.

While some random girls cooed and helped Paul up, I looked at George. "Havin' a happy birthday?"

He turned his head slowly to look at me. Here's the thing: when John gets drunk, he's VIOLENT, when Paul is, he's silly, and when Ringo is a bit sozzled, he's SUPER funny. But George? Well, normally he's pretty quiet and shy, but when he's drunk he just says the first thing that pops into mind.

"Birthdays are NOT happy. They're about getting OLDER! I don't want to get older!" He laughed madly. "But if I do, one day I'll be as old as John! Let's see him boss me around when I'm older than HIM!"

I giggled. "Sorry, buddy. You're never going to be older than John." I smiled, happy in my little Buzz World.

"I'm not?" he asked softly.

"Nope," I answered, popping the 'p'.

He gazed at something over my head for a moment, then looked back at me. "You know what I want you to do? For my birthday?"

"Make you older than John?"

He grinned, but didn't say anything to that. "I want you to go home with Ringo."

Every muscle in my body seemed to freeze up. We both turned to look at him. He was standing off the side of the bar, talking to a group of girls animatedly. I noticed that his eyes kept falling on the same one. She was his type; shortish blonde hair, big blue eyes, skinnier than a twig. She almost fell into him a couple times with the force of her laughter. And he was eating it all up.

I turned back to George, trying to look cheerful. "Oh, looks like he's already got a girl for tonight. Too bad!"

George waved that off. "You're b-" hiccup "-etter than her."

I raised my eyebrows. "Better?"

He nodded vigorously. "Better."

John came striding up to us before he could elaborate, a girl hooked on each arm. "Well hello there, Georgie Boy! I've got your present!" The redhead blushed and hid her face in her hands. "Meet Michelle."

"'Ello," George greeted, holding out his hand. Michelle revealed her face, shaking George's hand with a giggle.

"John," I said casually, "where's your girlfriend this fine evening?"

John narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck are you going on about now?"

"Pam."

George sniggered into his hand, and even Michelle and John's girl grinned a little bit. Apparently the Polythene Pam legacy still lived on.

John took a deep breath. I thought he was going to go ape shit on me, but instead he called out, "Oh, Ringo!"

"NO!" I yelled, lunging at him and covering his mouth with my hand. "We had a deal. Remember?" I hissed.

He slowly peeled my hand off his mouth in drunken superiority. "I don't break my promises," he informed me.

I laughed bitterly. "I can name a few hundred that you've broken, actually, but I think we should start with me being home before morning." I gave him my best Evil Eye.

"You will be," he said confidently, but I could tell that he was just saying that so that I would look stupid instead of him.

"Oh, sure I will be." He nodded as though he knew everything in the world. Seriously, I wanted to kill him right then and there. But I was practicing my new habits of self-control, and I took a step back.

"We ought to get going," Michelle murmured into George's ear. He nodded, then took her hand and stood up.

"Night, A.J. Night, John."

Neither of us looked at him, but at the same time we said, "Happy Birthday."

John was still glaring at me, but I had nothing left to say to him. I thought now would be a good time to start wrangling up the rest of the boys. At least now that George was gone there was one less to worry about.

"I'm leaving," John proclaimed, then turned around without another word. His girl pattered after him, obviously afraid of being in the world without Big Bad John Lennon. I swear, some people just make me MAD. Mad enough to scream. But I most of the time I don't.

I asked around, finding out that Paul had long since left with a whole crowd of girls. Figures. That boy had probably been with every girl in this place at LEAST once. I was going to have to have a word with him about his man-whorish ways.

That left Ringo. God, this was their plan all along, wasn't it? They were going to leave me to take home Ringo! Ugh, I hated them. Paul, George…and ESPECIALLY John. They are going to be the death of me, I swear it!

"Rings?" I hollered as I pushed through the mobs of sweaty and smoky dancers. "RINGO?"

"I'm right here, luv." He stepped out from behind a group of tall (sorry, but it's the truth) men. "Dance with me?"

Fuck that. If I couldn't even TALK to him, how the hell was I supposed to DANCE with him? "Ummm…" I hesitated. Think of an excuse! "Uh…what about that girl you were with earlier."

Ringo cocked his head. "What girl?"

"The blonde one."

"There are a LOT of blonde ones."

I rolled my eyes. "The one with the shorter hair…? You like shorter hair, right?" My hair was long as hell. Long and wildly curly and annoying. Ringo probably didn't like it.

He didn't answer, but he reached behind me and gave a good tug on one of my ringlets, making it spring back up instantly. He giggled into his palm. "I like that!" he told me, pointing at the piece of hair. I sighed. Silly drunk Ringo.

"So we're dancing?" he asked, pulling out onto the middle of floor. My hand felt like it as on fire from where he was grabbing it.

"I don't-"

"Hello, A.J."

Ringo was already shaking his head wildly and jumping around, but I did one of those slow dramatic turns. I recognized that voice.

"Chuck," I squeaked. Yes, Chuck indeed. He was still a hulking mass of man, and everyone around him seemed to part. I didn't realize it but there was a circle forming, and we were in the center. And Ringo was still dancing.

I took a slow step backwards, right into Ringo. His moving ceased as he looked up, finding that we weren't alone.

"And Ringo!" Chuck snarled, giving him a menacing smile. "How great to see you!" I noticed that there was a slight bump in Chuck's previously award-winning nose. Ringo broke his nose!

Ringo gulped, then looked at me. "See the things you get me into?" Our audience tittered at this comment.

Chuck shook his head. "You'll be sorry for this, funny man. You can bet on it."

Then things started happening too fast. Chuck was suddenly springing forward, reaching out his hands and twisting his face into a deadly expression. Without thinking, I hopped on Ringo's back and prodded him with a squeeze of my legs, which made him realize that was going on. With me riding shotgun, he took off to the doors. Chuck couldn't react quick enough, and soon we were swallowed by the crowd.

"Come back here, you-" Chuck bellowed, but he was cut off because we dashed out of the Cavern Club at that same exact moment.

"He'll kill them all," Ringo muttered as I jumped down from his back. "Especially Paul."

I laughed. "Nah, they're all gone."

"Where?"

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "With…er…_friends_."

Ringo cocked his head in confusion. "Friends? We should join them!" He smiled excitedly, stopping with in his tracks and jumping up and down. I put my hands on his shoulders, letting gravity be my buddy.

"No, Rings. Not friends. FRIENDS!" I widened my eyes. Usually, the guys laughed when I did this. Paul once said that I looked a lot like John when I did that. Yeah, now THAT was awkward.

He still looked confused. "What…? Are they…REALLY good friends?" His drunken mind didn't seem capable of processing what I was trying to tell him.

I sighed. I was going to have to say it. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't bother me the least bit. But here's the thing: nowadays, I have to watch what I say, because even the smallest thing with Ringo's triggers a bright red face. "They went home with some girls."

Ringo turned to look at me, his eyes darting around my face as he tried to focus. "I'm going home with a girl, too!" He giggled, putting his palm to his mouth.

"There's a difference," I informed him, turning a deep red color. Did he know what he was doing to me? Jesus!

Thank God that he suddenly got bored with the subject, and he started jabbering away about something else. "…and now I'm going to sing you a song!" Oh, please help me God.

I laughed uneasily. "A…song?"

"Yup. I'm feeling…" he looked up, searching for the word. "…inspirated."

I tried not to laugh at him. Poor Ringo always mixing things up and making new words. He was so cute! "You mean inspired?"

"Yeah, that's it." We started to walk up the steps to the house, me inwardly cringing as he opened up his mouth wide. But nothing came out but a loud burp, which I swear to God echoed around the entire block. Ringo, being drunk, thought this was the funniest thing in the world. He collapsed midstep and shook with laughter. This, I thought, would have happened whether he was drunk or not.

I rolled my eyes, stooping and giving him a hand up. I half-carried him into the house, and then down the hall to the entrance of his bedroom. I leaned him up against the wall, and seemed recovered enough from his laugh attack to stand by himself.

"Thanks for bringing me here," he said, his face suddenly more serious.

I shrugged. "I wouldn't leave you to fight to the death with Chuck. I'm mean, but I'm not CRUEL." The way he was looking at me was making my cheeks fire up all over again. What the hell was the matter with me? If I kept this up, he was going to see through my act and then- God, I didn't even want to think about that.

He chuckled, and I turned around to go back to my bed. If I could, though, I'd spend forever standing right here. But that wasn't a possibility. See, there are two types of people that ALWAYS tell the truth; little kids and drunken people. And I don't especially want to know what Ringo is thinking, because I KNOW that it's not about me. Not like that, at least.

He caught my hand as I was thinking these things, turning me right back around to face him. "Aren't you gonna come in?" he asked with a small giggle, gesturing to his door.

Even though I could tell he was kidding, his words made my heart speed up a little bit. "Oh, leave me alone."

He pretended to be offended. "Is it because of my nose?"

"Ha, yeah, that's it."

He put his hands on his hips. "Well I NEVER!"

I laughed, throwing my head back. This triggered a memory from the first night I was here. We were sitting in the Cavern Club (me, Ringo, and Paul), and that Rita whore was there, all over Paulie. I remember thinking that no one ever did that for real. And now I realize that Rita was probably just as enamored with Paul as I was with Ringo. Only, I couldn't see it back then because I guess I've just never had a crush this big. I sorta regretted being so mean to her now.

My head snapped back up, and then I was looking Ringo right in the eye, daring him to see right through me. It was kinda intense, and with anyone but him it would have been awkward. But Ringo had those pretty blue eyes, and looking into them once again things were said silently between us. Things people just can't say out loud for fear of their life.

He took a slow, measured step forward, as though testing it. I moved right along with him, taking a step backwards and hitting the wall. He stepped forward once more so that now he was right up against me. He brought one hand up, gently running it over my pink cheek, my stupid turned up nose, my too full for my face lips. But if he was disgusted in anyway by these imperfections, he didn't show it.

"A.J…" he whispered. I couldn't do anything at all, I was just SO paralyzed by his eyes. All thoughts in my head were screaming his name, but I could do nothing but press myself up against the wall and hope for the best. He smiled, and the sight of it almost made me pass out. My heart was thundering in my chest, butterflies tickling the interior of my belly. He leaned in slowly, enjoying what he was doing to me, I think. My jaw was shaking, hell, my entire BODY was shaking. And still I couldn't look away from those striking cerulean eyes.

His mouth was centimeters away from mine, and I could feel its light touch as his smile disappeared. Gently, ever so slowly, his lips lightly touch mine…

Fuck.

The effect was instantaneous. His lips were magical, zapping mine with this addicting voltage. I gasped, my mouth falling open, and jumped a little bit. Smirking, he raised his hands and put them on either side of my face, keeping it steady. I could tell that he intended to torture me more by just standing like that for a few seconds, so one of my hands jumped to take a fistful of hair, and the other grabbed his tie. Then I pulled his head closer to mine so that I could reach it. I kissed him on my own terms then.

Ringo's kissing was addicting. It was soft and sweet, and always left you wanting more. After a minute, his hands started drinking downward, wrapping around my waist and forcing me into his body. Not like I cared. I would do anything to be closer to him.

He was full on kissing me now, the gentleness all but gone. He was becoming urgent. He moved his mouth off of mine, saying breathlessly, "C'mon." His hand caught one of mine, and he began to softly tug me toward the open door that led to his room. All of a sudden, my thoughts that had been before completely numb and useless kicked in. No, they said. This isn't right.

"You're drunk," I whispered as best as I could, as he was placing small butterfly kisses around my mouth and down to my neck.

"So?"

"So…" His lips returned to mine, and the electricity there made me sigh and lean into him. I was totally losing this fight. Against all odds, I pulled away. "People do stupid things when they're drunk."

He laughed. "Don't I know it."

"How do I know this is what you really want?" He stopped laughing, his face becoming serious. Ringo opened his mouth, but no words came out. He frowned.

"How DO I know?"

A feeling of dread started to creep over me. I was no better than all those other one night stands. Would he even remember this in the morning? "How the hell should I know?" I snapped back.

A normal person would have rolled their eyes and walked away, but Ringo, apparently, wasn't normal. He closed the gap between us once more, laughing. "What am I gonna do with you?" he asked.

Okay, I'm not proud to admit that I thought of a LOT of different answers to what he could do with me. So you didn't hear anything…got it?

He took a step back, the light from his room framing him angelically in the doorway. "Are you sure?" he wanted to know.

I was in awe of him, and it took my dulled thoughts an extra few seconds to come up with an answer. "Uh…" I blinked. "You're drunk," I repeated stupidly.

He nodded. "That I am." He grinned toothily. "Are you SURE-"

"Good night, Ringo," I interrupted. I gave him an amused look.

"Good night, A.J.," he answered, shooting the look right back. Then he closed the door, emptying the hall of any light.

I stayed where I was, rooted to the ground. Did that really just happen? And if I did, tell me God, WHY did I turn him down? Why the hell did you make me so stupid, God? WHYYYYYY? Eventually, I wandered to my bed, my thoughts still in a haze. I grabbed my giraffe pillow that Paul bought even though he KNEW I was scared of those spotted creatures, cuddling it as I lay on my bed. Gently closing my eyes, I tried to remember a time that I was ever sad. I came up with nothing. Images swam through my brain, and then all of a sudden he was there; Ringo.

Has anything ever hit you with such force that it takes your breath away? Have you ever realized something so major that it monopolizes your brain, invading every single space? Have you ever been in complete and utter denial about something one second, and the next believing it with all your heart? Yeah…

I would like to say that was the moment when I knew the true meaning of a word I had been hearing all my life, and I would also like to say that I was beyond happy upon knowing the truth of my feelings. But if I said that, it would be a lie. Because this all started months ago, when I first met him. And ever since then, I had been doing nothing but falling, falling, falling. And then when it was most obvious, it smacked me across the face. Silly girl, it said. Look what you've done! And I probably should have guessed it once he kissed me. But the point, my friends, is that I didn't. And once it was there, right in my thoughts, I couldn't push it away. And to think, it hit me so suddenly, so swiftly. In one second. Just one. And I knew that no matter how this whole ordeal worked out, I would remember it forever.

For that was the very second that I realized that I was illogically, passionately, and undeniably in love with Ringo Starr. That was the second that forever altered my life.

**!**

**CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? I BET NONE OF YOU SAW IT COMING! Haha, that was sarcasm, people. Anyways, yeah. A.J. is in love with Ringo. Crazy stuff, huh? And Ringo kissed her, that little devil :^). Oh, but we love him. And let's not forget, guys, that that was a drunken kiss. Just throwing that out there.**

**So, in case I haven't bragged endlessly about this to my family (not that they gave a rat's ass) but I HAVE OVER A HUNDRED REVIEWS! I love you guys SO much for supporting me AND A.J. in her Beatles Quest. It means the world to me, it truly does. And I know this is off topic, but this was a long ass chapter! I felt pretty BA uploading it and seeing it with all my other short chapters. :^) This was supposed to be up days ago, by the way, but I am Catherine Grace, Queen of Procrastination and also The Laziest Bitch on Earth, soooo yeah. And I STILL don't think I got the ending OR the kiss right. But I think I've gone on long enough…aw, HELLS yeah I have. SO thanks again, guys. REVIEW and I'll…ummm…give John a compliment in the next chapter! Yeah, we'll have a contest. My favorite compliment will go in the chappie! And also (yes, it's true, I can talk even MORE) I put up a new poll, so if you wanna go have a looksy at that no one's stopping ya! Alright…where was I? Right, REVIEW!**


	16. Happiness Is a Warm Gun

**Well, after that last exciting chapter, I'm afraid I'm going to have to write THIS one, the one I've been dreading ever since I realized where I was going with the plot. I'm not going to talk a lot like last time, but I DO want to say this: A.J. is just like any other normal teenage girl. She has insecurities and faults like every single one of us does. And I understand that sometimes she handles situations…er…DIFFERENTLY than most would. I just wanted to get that out in the air before I continue. Alright, here's chapter sixteen…unfortunately.**

I didn't sleep all night.

Images of the boy that I now realized I was in love with danced around my head, enticing me and exciting me. I couldn't wait to see him today. What would I say? What would HE say? It was all so nerve racking…before I did anything, I figured I should probably consult the master.

I knocked on Paul's door the following morning at nine o'clock sharp. He had wandered in the house about an hour ago, so I knew that he would be up. I was careful to keep a low profile in the hall so that no one would see me as I swung stealthily into the room. His gaze flickered up briefly, then went right back down again to the notebook that was lying opening on his bed. He had an acoustic guitar in his hands, and he looked calm and content. Not at ALL like he had been drunk out of his mind last night.

"Whatcha doin'?" I asked, bounding in happily and sitting across from him on the bed.

"Song," he muttered bluntly. Whenever Paul was working on a song, he would usually hole himself up in a room for hours, not EVER letting anybody in besides John. I'm sure if I would have announced my presence with more than a knock then I would have been shunned. But shunning was out of the question at the moment, because there were things that had to be said.

"Ah. What about?"

He didn't answer, just continued to scribble away. He paused, his mouth twitching, before dropping his pen and picking up the guitar. "It's rough," he informed me, then began plucking out the chords.

An instant feeling of calm rushed over me. It was my favorite Paul song. "And I love her," he sang, his eyes looking down at the paper. I wondered what he was thinking about. The girl from last night? No, we would never LOVE her. Then again, sometimes they just said that. Girls (like me) eat that sweet lovey dovey shit up.

He really didn't have much, and it was VERY rough, but it made me smile nonetheless. "Aw, you're so dang cute, Paulie!"

He rolled his eyes. "I need to know; is this a good one? Does it stick?"

Should I tell him? Hmmmm…IDEA! "I'll tell you only if you tell me something first."

"But I asked first!"

"I don't care."

"You're not even going to tell me."

"I will."

"But you're only saying that!"

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

"Well, that's not a very reliable source. I suggest getting a new one."

Paul threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, then let them fall to his sides with a slap. "Fine! What is it?"

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "How do you tell someone that you love them?"

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed. "Don't," was all he said.

I cocked my head in confusion. "But I have to. I mean, if that's the way I feel…"

He shook his head, a worry line forming on his forehead. "Please, just listen to me A.J. Don't tell Ringo that you're in love with him." He was wearing a VERY serious expression.

"What the hell?" I mean, seriously, what the fuck was that? Wasn't he the one that was encouraging me to take charge of the situation and tell Ringo how I felt? He can't just change his mind all of a sudden and expect everyone to go along with it! That is COMPLETE bullshit.

He ran his hands over his face tiredly, sighing. "I know that sounds hypocritical, but-"

"But NOTHING! As soon as I WANT to tell him how I feel, you're over here telling me not to! I think you would be pretty God damn pissed, too."

He looked me square in the eye. "That was yesterday, when all that I knew was that you had a crush on him. Things get WAY too serious when it's actual LOVE."

"Are you saying he will never love me back?" I asked quietly, suddenly embarrassed. What if that was true? Paul didn't say anything for a solid minute.

"No," he said slowly, drawing out the word, "that's NOT what I'm saying. It's just…wait, I thought that you DIDN'T feel that way about him. I thought you were insisting that it was just a minor crush."

I smiled dreamily. "Yeah, that was before he KISSED me."

Paul's mouth fell open, and his guitar slipped from his hands. "WHAT?"

"Yeah, last night after I got him home, he kissed me." I thought back to it. "It was freaking amazing."

Paul blinked several times, obviously lost. "But…but he said that-"

I held a hand up in his face. "Shush. I don't wanna hear it. And you've been absolutely NO help to me, so I won't tell you that that song is one of my absolute favorites." I stood up cockily, flipping my tangled hair over my shoulder with mock-arrogance. He grinned.

"Thanks, A.J."

I was already halfway out the door. "For what?" I called over my shoulder. Then I hopped into the shower, not wanting anybody else to see me in such a mess. Well, actually, just Ringo. Obviously I didn't care how I looked in front of Paul, and for George…well, I'd seen him in a LOT less. I shuddered at that disturbing memory. And I could really give less of a fuck what John thought of me.

After I was dressed, I knocked on Ringo's door, trying to calm my nerves. What if he didn't remember? What if he DID remember? What if I Paul had already told him how I felt? What if JOHN had already told him? What if-

Okay, where was this boy? I walked into the kitchen, thinking that maybe he was in there. But the only person I found THERE was George. He was bent over, peering into the refrigerator. He pulled out a plastic cup of chocolate pudding that had a sticky note on it reading: JOHN'S! DO NOT EAT, GEORGE! George glanced at the yellow paper, then balled it up and threw it over his shoulder.

I giggled, and immediately George jumped, dropping the half-opened pudding cup back in the fridge. "IT WAS PAUL! Oh, it's just you." He grinned, picking up a spoon and the pudding. He put his finger up to his lips. Our little secret.

I laughed again, then said, "Where is everyone?"

He swallowed a spoonful before answering. "The studio. They left, like, ten minutes ago when you were in there." He pointed to the bathroom. "I told them I'd wait for you."

I nodded, twirling my hair absentmindedly. Should I tell George about what happened last night? Well, if Paul reacted so badly, I highly doubted George would take the news any better. I decided against it. "When are you leaving?"

He sucked down the rest of his pudding. "Now."

I nodded. Of course I'd been with them to the studio before, but only a few times to help Paul with Yesterday (which was in its Scrambled Eggs days now). The last thing I wanted to do was become a Yoko. Most of the time I passed up the offers. Like today. "Go ahead then. You don't want them to have to wait."

He shrugged. "Whatever you say. We'll be back late, so don't burn the house down!"

"Oh, I will," I replied. He grinned, throwing away his empty pudding cup and tossing his spoon in the sink.

"See ya later." He kissed me on the forehead (leaving behind pudding lip prints) and walked out of the house. I wiped off my head, thinking about all the things I could do today. Things that I didn't WANT to do. The only thing I REALLY wanted to was spend time with Ringo. But it looked as though I had missed my opportunity for that today.

* * *

George strolled into the recording studio without A.J.

"Where is she?" Paul asked, his eyes glued to the piano. He would have known if she was there, however, because her presence would have been announced by a rude comment towards John.

"She didn't wanna come," George answered simply, grabbing his guitar.

John rolled his eyes. "Why does it matter?"

Paul glanced back at Ringo. His eyes were half closed, and he had an ice pack over his head. He didn't contribute anything to the A.J. conversation. The bad feeling Paul had this morning was washing over him again.

George shrugged. "Doesn't."

Ringo chose that exact moment to topple off his chair, hitting the ground with a dull thud. "Ow," he moaned.

Paul stood up, walking over to him and giving him a hand up. "Easy there, boozy," John quipped, tuning his guitar and grinning. Ringo shot him a look.

"I don't remember a THING from last night," he groaned, holding his head. "The last thing I remember is Chuck coming in to the Cavern Club and me and A.J. running away."

'And then you kissed my best friend and made her fall in love with you,' Paul thought. But he didn't say that. He just shook his head and sighed. "I'm sure you didn't do anything bad."

Ringo shrugged. "Don't know. But thank God for A.J."

George, John, and Paul must have all been thinking the same thing, but none of them said anything. It wasn't their battle to fight.

* * *

"We're HOOOOOOOME!" Paul yelled as he walked into the house. I was on the back deck, sipping some lemonade from a tall glass and reading. I heard footsteps in the house, but made no movement.

The back door swung open, and then there was George, his arms moving up and down on his skinny arms. "What the hell? It's like twenty degrees!"

I had blankets wrapped around me on the lounge chair, my book propped in front of my face. The sun was just beginning to set in the background. I always loved when it was cold out, so I went outside ALL the time during this weather back home. It was one of the odd things that I loved.

"Shhh, this is getting good!" I gestured to the book that was in front of my nose. George rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Just don't be long, because we're hungry."

"Then make yourself some damn food!" I called as he slammed the back door. Once again I was enraptured by my book. Once the sun was too dim for me to do any more reading, however, I set it aside and pulled the blankets up to my chin, leaning my head back and watching the glorious sunset. Around me, the birds chirped lightly, but everything else was calm. My eyes started getting heavy, and I remembered the sleepless night that I had last night…

"A.J.?" a voice asked softly.

"…" I mumbled in response, rolling over into the warmth of the thick blankets.

The person laughed deeply. "You better get inside or you'll catch hypothermia. God forbid," he said sarcastically.

Upon this comment, I knew exactly who it was. "You would like that, wouldn't you John?" I sat up, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

"Oh, definitely." He grinned at me, standing up straight and putting his hands on his hips.

"What time is it?" I asked with a yawn.

"Nearly eleven."

"And you guys left me out here that long?" I exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. The jerks!

He shrugged. "I voted to leave you out here all night, but Paul and George said no."

I clasped my hands in front of my face and made fake-dreamy eyes at him. "My hero!"

He rolled his eyes, turning around to head inside with me on his heels. "So where's Ringo?" I inquired quickly, following him to the entrance of his door. He stood, framed in the doorway.

"In his room. But be quiet if the pair of you decided to go at, because me and the other lads will be sleeping."

I blushed, but quickly shook it off. "Don't you have a song to be writing or something?" Did that mean Paul told him what I said? Nah, Paul would never do such a thing to me…right?

"You're the one that's standing in MY doorway," he pointed out.

Oooh, point for John. "Touché."

He nodded. "'Night, then." Oh, my George. He totally loved me. I giggled at that thought. My own grandfather loved me! What a shocker!

"G'night, John."

I turned around, walking down the hall and standing outside Ringo's door. I could hear voices in the room, but I couldn't exactly make out what they were saying. Good, that meant he was up. It was the first time I'd seen him all day, and I was slightly nervous. I had no idea what I was gonna say.

Taking a deep breath, I rapped on the door. No one answered, but the voices continued inside. What the fuck Ringo? Can you at LEAST have the decency to get off your ass and answer your flippin' door? But nooooooo, God forbid someone ELSE in this house actually did anything. I mean-

I cut my thoughts off short. God, I could get annoying sometimes.

I knocked quickly again and there was a muffled response. I couldn't really hear what was said, however, and I just stood there. After a second the sound in the room returned. Without even thinking, I pulled open the door, ready to tease Ringo about his laziness…like old times.

But what I saw when I opened the door rendered me speechless, so teasing was a LITTLE bit out of the question.

I could only see the top half of Ringo, but what I COULD see was completely bare. He had his back to the door (er…well…more like to the ceiling) and was hovering over a girl. A girl I recognized. She had short, blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was staring up at Ringo intensely, moans escaping from her lips.

My first thought? Get the FUCK outta there.

But, unfortunately, Ringo heard the door open. He paused in what he was doing, rolling off the girl and looking over at me. "I said to hold on a second," he chirped, not getting that I was horrified and completely frozen to the spot, no matter HOW much I wanted to move.

"Uh…"

"Oh! And this is Bonnie." He gestured to the girl that was now pulling a sheet over her chest, looking embarrassed. "I met her last night. Great girl. Ended up that she was Martin's niece! Can you believe that?"

Yes, actually, I COULD believe that. Because honestly? These things just happened to me ALL THE TIME! NOTHING ever went my way. And then it dawned on me. "Ringo, I just wanted to talk to you about last night-"

He smiled that adorable, goofy smile. "Yeah, thanks for that! Chuck would have killed me!"

He doesn't remember, I thought. He made me fall in love with him, and he doesn't even fucking remember.

"Right. Chuck."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Then he pointed to Bonnie somewhat awkwardly. "So…"

"Right! Yeah, I'll just…" I began to turn around, but the first tear was already seeping down my face. Don't let him see, I mentally chanted. Don't let him see!

"A.J.? Are you alright?"

Shit. Now they were just coming even stronger, my heart completely tearing in two. "Fine," I managed to choke out. I didn't wait for a response before I sprinted the hell out of there.

Right out of the house.

And down the street.

In the complete darkness.

And cold.

I had never liked running, but right now it felt good. I ran right into town, searching for a light that showed me that someone was open. That I wasn't completely alone in the world.

I skidded to a stop in front of a beauty parlor, the only place with life on this desolate road.

* * *

"But sweetie, you have such beautiful hair!" the beautician said.

The tears were still streaming down my face. "Off. I want it short." Ringo liked girls with short hair, didn't he? Maybe if I just…er…CONFORMED a little bit, he would kiss me again. Just like last night.

She held up a fistful of long, thick, dark brown ringlets. "I WANT this hair."

"Off," I repeated.

She gazed at it longingly. "Well, okay… How short?"

I stared at my tearstained face in the mirror. What I was about to do was not really registering. I pointed to a random spot on my neck. "There…or shorter. I don't know. Just make it short."

She twitched her mouth enviously, then nodded. "Now, what's wrong?"

I didn't say anything for a moment, just listening to the snip snip of the scissors. Tears were pouring out of my eyes at rapid fire. God knows what the ladies were thinking in the place.

"He…" Could I make myself say it? Could I admit as true? "He…doesn't…love me."

Her eyes immediately softened. "Oh, honey! That's terrible!"

I nodded, unable to saying anything. Now I know why they call it heartbreak. IT FUCKING HURTS!

"Well, new hair always makes things better," she informed me, snip snipping more chunks of my precious hair off.

"I hope," I whispered. And I did. Because now that I was sad, the only thing that was gonna keep me going was hope. The hope that I could make things right again. The hope that I could make Ringo fall as hopelessly in love with me as I was with him.

I made a pact with myself there and then. I would always love Ringo, this I knew, but I would try and make him love me back. And I would not give up until I heard directly from his mouth that he would never be with me.

I took a deep breath, gathering myself, and wiped away my tears. I tried to smile. "There," the lady said, "you're getting better already!"

I blinked a couple times, as I did whenever I heard a Beatles song carelessly strewn into a conversation. "It hurts," I murmured. I wanted my mom. She would be able to make things better. She would be able to make me laugh. She would insult the hell out of Ringo like she did every time Des and I broke up.

"Yeah, it always does. But that goes away. Just forget him."

I stared at myself, a million thoughts crowding my mind. So, I said the only honest thing I could think of. "I can't."

**Catie = VERY sad right now. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want A.J. heart broken. But it was inevitable. Think about it: if this was a real situation, how do you think Ringo would react? Do you think we would love her back? WELL, he she hasn't come out and said it yet, but it will happen. Or maybe John will say it. Or maybe Paul. OR George. That's for ME to know, and YOU to find out. **

**I know that you ALL are incredibly interested, so here are SOME of the songs that I was listening to: Simple Man, Lynard Skynard. Jealous Guy, John Lennon. Imagine, John Lennon. Beth, Kiss. Free Bird, Lynard Skynard. Two of Us, the Beatles. Yellow, Coldplay. All Things Must Pass, George Harrison. Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol.**

**In case you didn't notice by the songs, I was trying to make myself sad by listening to slower songs with lots of instrumental and NOT a lot of peppy upbeat. I think it worked, because now I'm all…ugh. So, anywho, REVIEW!**

…**please?**


	17. Things We Said Today

**Okay, so you know I'm usually all hyper and crazy and out of control and talk, talk, talk? Well, I'm sad to say that this is no longer the case, as I am FREAKING SAD! There are four more chapters, three if you don't count this one. And after that no more A.J. Sad face. Anyway, I guess I should do a quick recap for those of you who, er, forgot. Sooooo: George, Paul, AND the horrible John know all about A.J.'s little crush on Ringo, but what George and John don't know is that Ringo kissed her and now she LOOOOOVES him. Paul knows because A.J. tells him EVERYTHING. So when A.J. went to profess her feelings to Ringo, she found him…ahem…with another girl. Then A.J. ran out and got herself a little haircut. And nooooooow, here's chapter seventeen!**

My head felt heavy as I rolled out of bed, but the only thought that was in my mind was this: COFFEE. I stumbled into the kitchen, not even looking to see who was in there. I poured myself a cup, took a grateful sip, and turned around, leaning against the counter.

They were all sitting at the table, wearing similar expressions: eye brows raised almost off their heads, eye wide, mouths open. I stared right back, frowning. No one said anything for a second; they were too awestruck. And me? I couldn't figure out WHAT the hell was going on.

"What?" I finally asked, my hand on my hip.

A smile flickered across George's usually serious features, and he raised his arm, pointing at me. "Hey, looks lads! It's the fifth Beatle!"

I gasped. "WHAT did you just call me?" I took another sip of my coffee, trying to wake myself up.

John was already cracking up, holding his stomach. "What did you DO?"

I slid my mug onto the counter, then ran into the bathroom, a sudden burst of energy overcoming me. I stopped dead, staring at myself in the mirror. What…the…FUCK?

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed in this high pitched, horror movie scream. My fingers slowing went to my chin, touching the fringes of hair that hung there. No…I did NOT!

Four faces appeared in the doorway, two of the grinning like madmen, two of them looking wary. "It doesn't look THAT bad. Actually…I think you look pretty." Paul smiled at me, obviously trying make me feel better.

"Have you SEEN me? I look like…like…"

"A boy?" John offered.

I looked at myself in the mirror again, slightly shocked. Why did I do this to myself? Why would I-

Then I remembered. I turned slowly, my eyes narrowed into oblivion. "This," I hissed, pointing at Ringo, "is YOUR fault."

John rolled his eyes, George looked down, and Paul bit his lip. However, Ringo raised his eyebrows incrediculously. "It's not my fault you decided to come into my room! And how does your hair have to do with me sleeping with some girl?"

"Oh, really? Bonnie was just SOME GIRL? Because you seemed pretty chummy when I saw you last." I crossed my arms over my chest. Jerk face.

"Why do you even care?" he shot back. "And you never answered my question."

John smirked. "Yeah, A.J. Why do you even care?"

"Shut up," Paul muttered, nudging John in the ribs.

John rolled his eyes. "Christ, why do you always have to take HER side! It's like-"

"Like George," Ringo cut him off, smirking. My finger moved to play with my curls like they usually did when I was anxious, but there was nothing there to play with. So they moved up a considerable amount and tried to seek out a good ringlet in the thick mess on top of my head.

"What does GEORGE have to do with any of this?" I thought aloud.

Ringo snickered. "Oh, please." George blushed scarlet, but his face was uncertain.

I looked at George. "What…?"

George cleared his throat. "Uh…"

"Oh you two are so damn cute!" Ringo proclaimed, giggling like crazy. Okay, what the fuck was HIS problem. I mean-

Oh, I get it.

"That's ironic," I breathed, shaking my head. The other three laughed, but Ringo just kept grinning away like he knew everything.

"A.J. loves George! George loves A.J.," he began to sing. George just got even brighter red.

"No, I don't."

Ringo began to do a little happy dance around in a circle. "A.J. loves Geo-rge! George likes A-J!"

John began to laugh. "You know why this is funny? Because A.J.-"

But before he could say anything, I lunged at him, my hand flying up to cover his mouth. "Shut UP!" I hissed, giving him my Mean Face.

"Hey Peter Pan, don't you have to get back to Neverland?" George quipped, snorting into his hand. Paul began to giggled too, and I lost my only ally.

I whipped around, marching back into the bathroom and sighing overdramatically. George, Paul, and John were still laughing at me, and Ringo was still happy dancing/singing. "I hope you all fall down a well and DIE!" I screeched, slamming the door shut. Goodbye and good riddance.

I stayed in my 'room' the entire day, talking to no one. When they all left to go party or whatever the hell they did every night, I emerged, thinking I was safe. I walked into the kitchen, making my footsteps quiet just in case someone WAS there. Slowly, I pulled open the fridge, peering inside. There was nothing good except a lone cup of pudding, standing resolute with its sticky note. I glanced around, knowing full well that if I got caught with pudding, there would be hell to pay.

I reached in slowly and determinedly, making sure not to disturb anything else, and grabbed the plastic cup. Quietly, I closed the refrigerator. Being my old paranoid self, I glanced around again. No one. I looked at the yellow paper that was stuck to the cup. It read: JOHN'S FUCKING PUDDING! WHAT DON'T YOU PEOPLE GET ABOUT THAT? I slipped the note in my jean pocket, not knowing where else to deposit it.

Ever so gently, I peeled off the top, grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer, and dipped it in the delicious substance. "Sorry, Johnny," I whispered, placing the spoon on my tongue and savoring the creamy, chocolate treat that slid off of it and into my waiting mouth.

"So it was YOU!" a voice hissed from behind me. I jumped ten feet in the air, the pudding cup flying out of my hand and landing on the floor with a thump. Its contents seeped out. John looked from the chocolate pudding, to me, pudding, to me, pudding, and then finally his beady little eyes rested on my own. "You…you…pudding waster!"

I bit my lip, not knowing what to do. But it was too late. Now I, the only one in the house that ever respected John's pudding rule, was going to take the fall for pudding-stealing. "Oh, shut up. It's not like I was the one eating your cornflakes!"

John gasped, hurrying forward and pushing me out of the way to get to the cereal cabinet. He yanked it open, snatching out the precious box and ripping the top open. There was a noticeable amount gone. "George," he growled. The yellow sticky note on the box proclaimed: Eat. And. Die. Love, John.

"Anyways," I said slowly, inching my way out of the kitchen, "I was just going-"

"Oh, no you don't. Back," he ordered, pointing to the kitchen chair. He reached up, put the cereal away, and sat down across from the chair he had indicated. I sat down uneasily.

"Uhhh…what's up?"

"Remember that deal that we made?" He grinned evilly at me. I want to smack him across the face.

"Yes," I replied, not wanting to elaborate in case HE forgot.

"I know what you're gonna do for me." He was wearing a completely serious, all business face. Dread was creeping into my stomach, and my palms were starting to sweat. However, I glared at him defiantly.

"What?"

"You're going to tell me something."

Okay, I just dodged a MAJOR bullet. And that bullet was going ninety five miles per hour, was pointed at the end, and was named John Lennon. Tell him something? EASY! I thought he was gonna make me drink George's dirty bath water or something. Ugh.

"Okay, shoot."

That famous John Lennon smirk appeared. "Who is grandfather?"

My mouth dropped open. "Er…I…Doctor Ryan, remember?"

He shook his head. "I'm not a moron. They met AFTER she told me." I stared at him blatantly. How could he not see? How was being so blind? He WAS smart, this I knew. And he had common sense, at least. He should have realized it by now.

"Are you kidding me, John?"

He just stared back solemnly. I sighed, standing up and grabbing his hand. "Come with me," I commanded. To my great surprise, he stood with me, and he allowed me to drag him into the bathroom.

"Whoa, Peter, I don't like you like that!" he exclaimed, wrenching his hand away from mine. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't call me Peter. And look in the mirror, John." We stood side by side, staring into the mirror, and hit me all of a sudden that no matter how much everyone said I could be my mother's sister, it was her FATHER that I resembled most.

He shifted his weight impatiently. "What am-"

"Just look."

"I am looking! I don't see anything!"

"Look harder!"

He squinted his eyes up and leaned forward. After a second he returned to his old position. "That's not working," he informed me.

I shoved him a little bit, and when he straightened up and returned to the frame, he rolled his eyes at the exact moment I did. That, I think, was when he knew. There was a flash of recognition behind his eyes, however brief. But he still looked at me stubbornly.

"Enough of this bullshit, just tell me."

"I can't, John. I really can't. It's not my secret to tell."

"But you know."

"Yes…"

"So you have to tell me."

"I. CAN'T!" I yelled. I was starting to get SERIOUSLY pissed off.

He crossed his arms over his chest, that malicious smile dropping back on his think lips. "Fine then. I really should be catching up with the lads. I only came back to grab my ciggies. Besides, I have this one story that I've been DYING to tell Ringo."

My face drained. "Please…don't."

John shrugged. "If you're not going to tell me, then I'll do what I have to."

"That's not fair!"

"And neither is the fact that you didn't follow through on your side of the deal." He turned around, walking out of the bathroom and into the hall. I hurried after him.

"C'mon! I'll do anything else!"

"I don't want anything else." Now he was in the living room.

"I'll tell you…about, ummm…all of Paul's hit songs!"

This seemed oddly tempting to him, but he waved it away. "Nah, I'm fairly certain I'm better than him." His hand was reaching out for the front door.

I stood in the middle of the living room, deliberating. I knew for a FACT that he was going to tell Ringo this very second about how I felt. That was just who he was. He hated me! He didn't care about MY feelings at all. He never would. He just wanted to be an asshole. The knowledge of that is what made me do it.

"-and then later we're going out, so we won't be back til much later. Paul's been goin' on about some bird, so we might-"

"It's you," I cut off quietly. He stopped, half way out the door, midsentence.

"It's me…what?" But he knew. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.

"When Maggie Mae got pregnant, she told you that it was another man's baby because she didn't want you to have to carry that around with you. You know, that weight of having a child, maybe of even having a wife. So she lived in pure misery, had YOUR baby, and listened to all the times you bitched and moaned and complain and cussed her out." I glared at him, hoping the resentment I had been feeling was pouring out through my eyes.

He leaned up against the doorframe, his eyes cast downward, breathing heavily. He looked up at me through the corner of his eye. "I didn't know," he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Yeah, neither did I," I hissed. "And the worst fucking part? Neither does your daughter. Because Maggie Mae would have rather been called slut and a whore and a bitch then to betray that secret that she kept because of YOU."

John stood up straighter, his voice coming back to him. "I didn't ask her to do that!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. He was gonna scream this one out, I knew it. And if that was what was gonna make it better for him, so be it.

"No, and doesn't that make it all the more noble?"

"You don't think I would have cared for my own fucking kid? You don't think I would have helped her?" He pointed his finger in my face, and I carelessly swatted it down.

"I don't think anything. Obviously Maggie didn't though." I crossed my arms over my chest.

He took a step back, his hands shooting up and twining into his hair. "This is BULLSHIT! I don't…I can't…"

"You asked," I spat.

"BECAUSE SHE TOLD ME IT WASN'T MINE!"

"And did you honestly believe that, John? Or did you just WANT to believe that?"

He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "You cocky little bitch! You don't know me! You don't know anything ABOUT me!"

"HA!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Seriously John? That might have worked a couple months ago, but that was sure as hell NOT working now. "That's where you're wrong, asshole. I DO know you. I know that you're OCD about pudding and fucking cornflakes, I know that your favorite color is green because it reminds you of nature and trees and peaceful things. I know that you like to sing show tunes in the shower and that you hate the sound of your own voice. I know that you talk in your sleep, and because of that I know that you are very fond of cats. Fuck, I even know that Maggie Mae was the only girl you've ever truly loved, and I know all the songs you've written for her by heart." I felt like crying again. But I wasn't going to cry, because too much crying got VERY old. "And I know tons more, but I'm afraid that if I tell you that I know them you'll hit me."

His face looked completely dead, and he wouldn't look me straight in the eye. "Yeah, okay, I guess you know a few things about me."

I laughed, because I honestly didn't know what else to do. Then I took a few hesitant steps forward and whispered, "And you know what I know most of all?"

"What?"

"That you're gonna hate this next part."

His defeated features looked, if possible, even more resigned. "Shit. Okay, fine. Tell me."

"If you were the father of Maggie Mae's baby," I began slowly, watching his face, "and Maggie Mae's baby is my mother, that makes you…"

He stared at me, his mouth open but no sound coming out. "…my grandfather," I finished, because I didn't think he would ever add it up.

Okay, now let me tell you a little something about John Lennon. No matter how much you hate him (like me) or worship the ground he walks on (like most others), there is no doubt in your mind upon meeting him that he is intimidating. And not because he is especially big, or because he is especially good looking. But because even standing next to him you can tell that his mind is working at all times. He has this aura of…intelligence, almost, that bites into you and makes you stutter. You just KNOW that you are in the presence of an outstanding mind. And what, you may ask, did the award winning mind of John Lennon think up to say to the simple fact that yes, he was my grandfather?

"Ew."

**Hehe. He says nothing but 'Ew'. Sorry, but i think that's kind of funny. Anyway, only a few more chapter left til the impending doom that we all knew was coming from the beginning. I want to say ahead of time thank you SO much for reading, and no matter what happens just know that I am a slightly pessimistic person, and that I think happy ending are for people who can't face reality (haha Dani Dragon!). If you WANT you can review but- Okay, sorry, I don't know what happened there. That was VERY out of character. What I MEANT to say was REVIEW OR I'LL SAY YOU ATE JOHN'S CORNFLAKES!**


	18. Let It Be

**When I first imagined this story, I had this scene jumping around in my head. It's funny, but I knew the end before I really even knew the beginning. And yeah, I would definitely say that I built the story around this. Which is sad, in a way, because…I don't wanna say, but it really is sad. Maybe not cry your eyes out sad, but heart wrenchingly sad. I'm just gonna say something real quick, and then I'll get on with it: it's not Ringo's fault. Alright? Okey dokey then, here's chapter eighteen! **

It was killing me.

I didn't know that heartbreak could kill a person, even in the minor form that I had, but I could already tell that it was. I was trying so hard to be a person that Ringo would want, that Ringo would love. But it was to no avail.

And it wasn't just me. The house was oddly quiet. It was like Ringo, George, and Paul didn't know what to do if they didn't have to break up a fight between John and me. Because I just didn't have the heart to start anything with John anymore; he was down, too. We were united in that one thing, that one pain. I was hurt, yes, but I had some pep in me. I was trying, at least. But not John. He seemed to have given up. That defeated look in his eyes was about enough to make a person cry. And no one knew what was bothering him except for me. Because honestly? He was still John Freaking Lennon. He still kept everything bottled up until he lashed out in anger.

I was talking to Ringo about nothing, apparently, because he looked most disinterested, when he brought up a most, er, UNWANTED subject.

"So I've been seeing Bonnie." He was drumming out a beat on his leg, not even looking at me. At just that name my face whitened, so it was probably a good thing he wasn't watching.

"Oh?" I asked weakly. He just nodded, absentmindedly hair-flipping. Is it just me, or is it SUPER hot when boys hair-flip? When girls do it, everyone in the room is like 'Okay, we KNOW you think you're hot shit, but no one cares.' And then a guy does it and every girl is, like, in awe that such a specimen could do such an amazing trick.

"She seemed…" I trailed off, not knowing how I would describe her. I had seen her exactly twice, both times over two weeks ago. The one time on George's birthday, the other the day after. I had never really talked to her, seeing as she was a bit busy both times.

Ringo looked up at me, grinning. "She's great. Sometimes she's at the studio with Martin, and we really got to talking." His eyes looked distant for a second. "I've never met another girl like her."

Okay, God, really? Why was he doing this to me? Was he TRYING to make me cry? Was he TRYING to obliterate my heart? I mean, COME ON! I wanted to tell him SO damn bad, but I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. It was my natural instinct to tell the truth overtaking me, and I was trying as best I could to fight it. It was heart against brain, right shoulder against left shoulder, conscience against constitution.

He smiled, and instantly all my thoughts melted away. That goofy, adorable smile. It made the corner of those deep blue eyes crinkle, and made my heart just about burst. Tell him, something in me screamed. Do it now!

"Ringo, I-"

"I know that you haven't really met her, but I think that-"

"-have to tell-"

"-you could really get along."

"-you something."

We both just looked at each other, and it was yet another one of those times where everything I was feeling seemed to come out in the air between us. I didn't have to say anything, nor did he; it was silently understood.

"Then tell me," he encouraged, grinning feebly. I think he could tell that he wasn't going to like this.

"I…" How the fuck was I supposed to start this? I'm deeply, passionately in love with you? You are the only man that I can ever imagine myself with? I need you, and I just want you to need me, too? I figured that the best way to do this was to get it out there, right off the bat. "…love you."

My words echoed around the studio room, sounding too fervorous to me. Too intense. At least the other three had already gone home. Actually, I DOUBTED they were at home, but that was a different story. Was Bonnie here? Was Eppy or Martin there? Oh, well. Too late.

Ringo frowned slightly. "Yeah, I love you, too." He pointed his finger at me mock-sternly. "So don't ever leave us!"

I looked down. Sure, that was fucking amazing news. He loved me. But everyone knows there's a difference between loving somebody and being IN love with somebody. That was fairly obvious. And I SHOULD have just accepted that, I really should have. But because I'm me, I HAD to dig myself into an even deeper rut.

"That's…not exactly what I mean," I whispered, still staring at the ground. HOLY FUCKING HELL I WAS GONNA SAY IT!

Ringo cocked his head curiously. "I don't get it…"

I squeezed my eyes shut, scared to tell the truth for once in my life. "Here's the thing…well, I think-I mean to say that…"

"Spit it out."

"I'm in love with you." I didn't open my eyes for a solid moment, my teeth chomping down on my lower lip painfully. Ringo didn't say a word, and my heart seemed to be beating at an inhumanly fast pace.

I opened my eyes slowly, not even realizing I was holding my breath. His face was completely blank, as though he couldn't decide on what emotion to portray, so he just didn't choose any. It was not helping.

"Ringo?" I asked quietly, afraid of his response.

"What?" The word came out cold, meaningless, as though he didn't wish to speak it at all. My heart rate went up a few notches. What did that tone mean?

"S-Say something!"

He looked down, then lifted his eyes so that they were focused over my shoulder. "What do you want me to say?"

I cringed. Shit! I was so stupid! "Well, if the obvious answer doesn't come to mind, then maybe…"

Ringo stopped his drumming, looking me straight in the eye. "What do you want me to say?" he repeated, angry lines crossing his face. "That I'm in love with you, too?"

"That would be nice," I mumbled, looking down.

"Well, I can't do that."

I bit my trembling lip. "Say it, then. If that's what it's gonna be; say it."

He put his hands over his face, rubbing at it tiredly. "I don't wanna…hurt your feelings or anything."

Ouch. The pity was worse than the rejection. If I was some other girl, I'd go hide under a rock right now and forget this ever happened. But, obviously, I wasn't. I wasn't about to let it go with a fight.

"I don't think you understand," I told him, frowning.

"No? Then enlighten me." He was staring at me, his eyes hard and cold and not inviting. I took a deep breath.

"When I first came here, I didn't know what to think. I mean, the Beatles? Crazy stuff, man. And through it all…I don't know, I guess we sorta became friends, right?" I waited for him to nod before I continued. "And then…you punched Chuck for me." He grimaced, as though he was regretting that.

"Yeah, but that was what a _friend _would do. FRIEND."

That stung. But I continued on, determined. "And then…well, you kissed me."

Ringo held up a hand in my face. "Hold on, hold on. I know for a fact that I did NOT kiss you. For. A. Fact."

I rolled my eyes. "You were drunk out of your mind. You don't know shit."

He looked as though he didn't know what to say to this. Because what DO you say to that? He didn't know what he did, so it was hardly his fault. Well, the getting drunk part was definitely his part. But still.

"I…" He frowned. "I don't know think you realize what you're saying."

I took a deep breath, ready to spill. "Ringo…I am so desperately in love with you that it's hurting me. To see you with Bonnie and those other girls...that's an indescribable pain. But I can get through that, because every time I see you I think about how hard you can make me laugh, how much you make me smile every time I'm around you. And I love that, because no other person has that power. And then there's the fact that when I'm with you, sometimes I feel so strongly that it can't even be put into words. And that's when I can talk to you without saying anything at all." I looked up at him with wide eyes (as far as the fucking squinty bastards would go, that is). "And I KNOW what I'm saying. Because believe me, I've thought about it."

He stared at me, some emotion creeping onto his face. I couldn't exactly put a name to it yet, as I didn't exactly know what to call it. And to my whole entire speech, the only thing he had to say was: "So you cut your hair because of me, right?"

I blushed scarlet, wanting nothing more to lower my gaze in shame. But I held my ground. "Yes."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're a silly little girl, you know that?"

My mouth dropped open. "I'm not SILLY! And I'm not little either."

"Yes, you are. You think you know what you're talking about…well you don't. And I'm not saying I'm an expert on these matters, but I can tell you one thing: love never ends well. Because it always ends. So my advice? Just get the hell outta here and stop it. Because life will be better for both of us that way. Trust me."

My jaw started to shake uncontrollably and tears started streaming out of my eyes. "That's not FAIR!" I realized what that emotion on his face was. It was disgust. He was disgusted by me. And he didn't love me; he never would. "I know what I'm talking about, God damn it! YOU don't know. And I don't care if it ends badly, I just don't care. Please, Ringo. Please!"

He turned around, heading towards the recording booth where people were probably watching us. "I'm sorry, A.J. But please stop bothering me with your silly teenage woes."

Inside of me, something broke. Clean in half. His words stung more than salt water on an open cut. Once again, my tears were hitting me hard, making my chest heave and my breathing heavy. He didn't love me…he didn't love me…. Those words just kept circling through my mind.

I had to get out of there.

I took off at the speed of light, zipping through the near empty corridors and out into the street. For the first time in a while, it wasn't raining. Though it was still a little bit cold, and I didn't have a jacket on. My feet pounded barefoot against the pavement, my hair whipping behind me and biting at my neck. The tears that before had shook my entire body were lessening as I focused on getting home, and getting there fast.

I came to a sudden halt right outside the house. Was there anybody home? Just as I was thinking this, a girl walked out of the house, buttoning her coat and smoothing her hair down as she went. She gave me a confused smile and brushed past me. Okay, definite sign that at least ONE boy was home.

I ran inside, slamming the door closed to announce my presence. Nobody in the house stirred. So I went to the first place that I could think of, the first person that would help me.

BAM, BAM, BAM! I pounded on Paul's door, hoping to God it wouldn't be another Ringo scene. But I heard him call out seconds later. "Come in!"

I opened the door, revealing a shirtless Paul McCartney. So, I know I was kinda done with the whole crush on Paul thing, but…God damn. That boy had it going ON! I stepped into the room, and all of a sudden my tears started gushing a full force again.

"A.J.? What's the matter?" He sat up on his bed, obviously concerned. I thanked God briefly that I hadn't left the studio seconds earlier, because then I probably would have walked in on him putting some pants on. And you KNOW I didn't want to see that.

"He…I…" I shuffled over to the bed, completely gone by then. My face must have been splotchy as hell, and my eyes were probably dark red. Paul put his arms out, and I gratefully climbed onto the bed and let him wrap them around me.

"Shhh…it's okay…"

He leaned back, and I rested my head on his bare chest. I didn't know what to say, so I just kept crying. After a few minutes, his hands started stroking my hair. "Tell me what happened," he requested.

And so I did. I told him everything. Everything I said and did, and everything Ringo said back to me. And I would like to say that I felt better after getting that off my chest, but I didn't. If anything I felt more miserable because TELLING someone about made it feel realer.

After I was finished, I just laid there, hardly able to breathe. It just hurt so bad. "Listen to me," Paul whispered. I tilted my head up to look at him. "Sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're under pressure." He hesitated. "And…sometimes things don't work out how we want them to."

I nodded, unable to say anything. Crying fucking sucked.

"And no matter what," he continued, "you just have to know that you are beautiful, smart, hilarious, and just…great. And I know that he thinks that, too. Give it some time; soon he'll see what the rest of us see."

That was probably just about the sweetest thing anybody had ever said to me. And for a while, we just stayed like that; Paul running his fingers though my hair, my head on his chest, nothing said. And I started to calm down.

During this time, my thoughts that had been in such a frenzy before had slowed down. And only one thing kept running through my mind. "I can't stay here," I murmured after a long time.

"What do you mean?" Even though I wasn't looking at him, I could hear the frown in Paul's voice.

"I-I can't looked at him anymore. I have to go."

Paul's hands stopped, and for a second I thought he was gonna yell at me or something. "You have to?"

"I think so."

"Do you THINK so or do you KNOW so?"

"I…I know so."

* * *

It was hours later. Ringo hadn't come home yet, but George and John had long since returned. Needless to say, Paul had told them immediately of my decision. John said absolutely nothing (as was his usual reaction to things nowadays), but George had started protesting immediately. I didn't budge though; I had made my decision.

I figured that I didn't need to take anything with me. I mean, I was just going home after all. I walked into the living room, only to find the boys standing in a row, three solemn faces.

I sighed. Here came the hard part; goodbye. I was walked over to the first boy, who was standing tall and thin, his features determinedly blank.

"George," I began, "I'm gonna miss you so freaking much." And then he melted, his face becoming deeply saddened. I felt so bad. "You're so much like me in all the best ways, and you'll forever be like a brother to me."

He cleared his throat. "Don't forget me, okay?" he mumbled, looking down shyly.

"How the fuck could I forget you?"

He grinned, but didn't say anything. "Promise me you'll be good and quit smoking." I held out my pinky. He laughed, wrapping his own around mine. It brought back memories of the first time George had made me pinky promise. Good times.

"I promise."

I nodded, then moved on to the next one. Paul was blinking back tears, his big, round hazel eyes looking glassy.

"Well…bye then."

He smiled. "Oh, you've always had a way with words, Miss A.J."

I grinned back. "Ah, but not as much as you, Mister Paul."

His face fell slightly. "I wish you would stay."

I nodded wistfully. "Me, too."

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so he pulled me forward, squeezing his eyes shut and kissing my forehead. "Watch your mouth now," he warned playfully.

"Never," I said back. Then I smiled and moved on to my last target.

For a second, me and John just looked at each other. It would be a God damned lie to say that I wouldn't miss him, that my hear wouldn't ache for him just as it did the others. But what was there to say to a man who you insisted that you hated for years? How did you say goodbye to someone that you should never have to say goodbye to in the first place?

Without thinking, I rushed forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging the hell out of him. My eyes shut tightly, and I held my breath, hoping to God that I would never let go. After a second, his arms wrapped around me, too. Paul and George watched in shock.

"I'm sorry that I was so horrible to you," he whispered in my ear.

"Ditto."

I let go of him, and he cleared his throat gruffly. "Well, er, do you think you could do me a favor?"

I nodded slowly, wondering just what he would want. "If I can."

"Tell Maggie that I love her. And that I'm so fucking sorry for what happened."

His words wrenched my heart out. If only he knew what Maggie Mae was like now. If only he knew. But I agreed to do it anyways. "Of course." His words reminded me of something. "You know, my friend Addie was always telling me how much she loved you, and how sexy she thought you were." John raised his eyebrows. "I mean, she was obviously delusional, but the point is that she always said that underneath all of that…asshole man-whore shit, you were a good person. And you know, I think she was right."

John cocked his head. "Uh…thank you?"

I laughed and nodded. "Any time."

Something in his face clouded over, and suddenly his voice was a whisper. "Please don't leave."

This struck something in me. John, my sworn enemy, didn't want me gone. "I…I have to. You know that."

John bit his lip. "Yeah, but…you're the only family I have left. And you remind me so much of Her." His voice started to crack near the end, and I could tell that he was holding back emotion.

My eyes started to tear up again, if only because of John's hurt. "I'm so sorry."

"Stay," he ordered, "for me."

My tears started coming at full force now. "I can't. I honestly can't. I have to go home. There's my family and Des and my friends and my LIFE. I can't just ignore it! And then-"

John cut me off. "Ringo doesn't matter!"

"He doesn't want me, John! He told me to LEAVE!" I took a few steps back. George and Paul were watching us as though it was a scene from a movie or something. I was starting to remember now. The calmness that Paul had installed was losing its grip.

"But we love you, and we want you to stay!"

It wasn't enough. It was never enough. There was only one person that I wanted to say these words for me, and he already told me that it would never be. "I'm sorry…I have to go now."

I turned around, unable to take one more second of their tortured faces. Of all the different emotions clouding my mind, one was stronger than the others: my want to get to Papa's house.

George came to the door. "A.J.!" he bellowed, his eyes searching for me in the near darkness.

But I was already gone.

**FUCK did this take me a long time to finish. Man oh man! And now I have a raging headache. Don't worry, there are two more chapters after this one. And the next one has been written for about a month, so you don't have to worry about waiting for that one for forever. God am I pissed at Ringo right now. I guess I shouldn't be, since I'm the one that made him say those things but…OH WELL! I gotta go or else I'll talk forever, so REVIEW!**


	19. Because

**Guess what guys? IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! I'm officially fourteen years old, as of today. Haha, I know that applies to NOTHING, but I kinda wanted to post this as my birthday present to me :^). So there's a George for you all, and I'm in a good mood, aren't I? Huh, interesting. WELL! Some CRAZY things happening in this chapter. And wanna know something FREAKY? This is actually the first chapter I wrote for Any Time at All. And I based the story off this here. Nifty, huh? Haha, this is the second to last chapter, so happy reading! Here's chapter nineteen.**

"PAPA!" I bawled as I burst through the door into his house. I didn't bother knocking, it wouldn't do me any good. If he wasn't here then it didn't matter anyways. "PAPA, PLEASE!"

Robert Ryan bustled out of the kitchen at my voice, hurriedly wiping his hands off on his trousers. He didn't look the least bit surprised to see me. "Ah, A.J., my dear. Is it time?"

I didn't know what the hell this meant in my current state, so instead of answering him, I rushed forward along the hallway and fell into his arms. He stroked my hair, shushing me gently. My tears flowed freely into his sweater, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him closer to me. Hoping against all odds that my grandpa would never let me go.

"Papa, I…I n-need to go home!" I stuttered into his chest. He pulled me away from me at an arm's length, examining my tear-stained face carefully.

"A.J., you know I'm not your grandfather." His words stung, and I wished so hard that he would take them all back and fold me into his hug again. It was just so _familiar_. Everything about him reminded me of home.

"Maybe not. But you will always be my Papa." He gave me a weak smile, the smile that you give someone when they've touched your heart so deeply, so foolishly and irrationally, that you have no idea what to say to them.

He led me into the living room, letting me sink down onto the comfy old couch. He went back into the kitchen, returning with a fresh brewed cup of tea. In my time in Liverpool, I had come to love that stuff. I sipped at it, waiting for it to cool so that I could down the mild substance. This was my usual custom, and George had always teased me so badly for it…. Wow, I was going to miss that boy. He had become my brother, in every way but the literal sense.

"Now tell me, luv, what is it that happened? Why do you think it's time to go back?" he asked me calmly, watching my face intently. I could tell he wasn't gonna let me go back for nothing. I had learned that lesson before.

"I'm in love, Papa. But he will never love me back." I looked at the ground, ashamed at my admission. If I had it my way, nobody would ever find out. But that was unfortunate, seeing as I NEVER got my way. So of course the boys all knew and now Papa. But what was I supposed to do? I was so desperately heart-broken. I could no longer stay here. I HAD to go home, and I hoped that this is what Papa had meant when he said that I would know when the right time was.

The doctor's face scrunched. "And you know this for a fact?" he wanted to know.

I sighed, the tears threatening to come again. "Yes," I answered softly. "I told him. He said…" I took a deep breath. "He said that I was a silly little girl who didn't know love from lust. He told me he was sorry, but I needn't bother him with my silly teenage woes anymore." I looked up at Papa. "I'm NOT a little girl. And I am certainly not _silly_." I spoke the word with disgust, blaming it for Ringo not loving me back.

He closed his eyes. "You wish to leave this age because of a lost love? You cannot live without him?"

I pondered this. Was my love for Ringo so strong that I couldn't live without him? Was he really my one true love? I thought back upon everything we'd been through, every smile, every laugh. The tears I had unwillingly shed in front of him. Our first and only kiss, that drunken night in the poorly lighted hallway. How he had knocked Chuck unconscious with just one hit to rescue me. The way he bobbed his head to a totally different beat than the one he was playing. How we would often just look at each and burst out laughing, most of the time for no reason at all. How he told me that I couldn't go home, not ever. How he had told me he loved me, though I know he never said that he was IN love with me. How every time he looked at me, I felt lightheaded. How I knew that I would never, ever feel the same about any other person.

"No," I replied shakily, my eyes filling, "I can't live without him. But I will, because he can live without me." It was a wonder that I didn't collapse right then and there. But something inside me, something way, way deep in there, told me now was not the right time.

Doctor Ryan, my papa, nodded slowly. "You are ready, child. Close your eyes. I'll see you in a few decades, A.J."

I took a deep, quivering breath. I slowly began to lower my eyes lids, glancing around me desperately as I did so. They were just about closed when I heard the door smack open, and the sound of pounding footsteps.

"NOOO, A.J., WAIT!" Ringo bellowed from the hallway. My eyes sprang all the way open again, and I leapt off the couch.

"Get OUT of here, Ringo! I don't want you here!" I screamed at him, not caring who on Earth heard.

He looked a bit taken aback, and his mouth dropped open a little bit. "Er…I thought…I thought you-"

"I'm going home." I told him simply. I watched as his face contorted into a million different emotions, finally settling on disbelief.

"But you can't," he finally muttered, his eyes still wide and shining a brilliant robin's egg blue.

"Why not?"

"You…you promised." He spoke as if in church, using such a hushed tone that I had to take a step closer to him to hear what he was saying.

"I don't care. I can't stay here." I glanced everywhere but at his face, not wanting to say what had to be said. I loved him still, no matter how mean I was about to be to him. God, I was turning into John!

"You can't stay here because of me, right? I'm the reason you're going." The last sentence was a statement, as though he were dead sure of it. Strangely enough, this made me sadder than anything else; that he knew what he had done, yet he didn't care about me enough to do something about it.

"Yes." I wasn't going to lie to him. I couldn't lie to him, if that even makes sense at this point.

"Paul finished his song," he whispered, as though trying to hold onto the conversation for just a little while longer, trying to delay the inevitable. "He finished the lyrics right after you told him you we're leaving. It's beautiful."

I wanted to shout a thousand insults in his face at the moment (John's style of dealing with heartbreak), but I swallowed them and let tears well up in my eyes (Maggie Mae's style). "Why is it worth telling me? I'm just a silly little girl, aren't I?"

He closed his eyes, shaking his head tiredly. "No, please don't ever think that. I'm so sorry, A.J."

"That doesn't change anything. Sorry is just a word, and it's as empty and pitiful as you."

He winced openly, but took a small step forward. "You're mean, but that's what I love about you." He smiled a small, hesitant smile.

"Stop saying that! I don't wanna hear it, Rings! You know damn well that that kind of love doesn't mean anything to me at this point!" I shook my head in exasperation, but it didn't throw him off.

No, instead he stepped forward excitedly, filling the gap between us. "That's just it though! I've only just realized it!" Damn it! Why didn't he feel pain like the rest of the people of this God damned Earth? Everything just seemed to…bounce off of him.

"I don't care anymore! Why don't you understand that? I just wanna go-"

That was when he reached out, tipped my head up, and kissed me. A thousand fireworks exploded, clouding my brain and dulling my senses. I was aware of how magical it was though, and I let his arms wrap around me tightly, pressing me into him. He smelled like cinnamon, my favorite flavor of gum or mints.

And then, all too quickly, it was over, and he was pulling away. He held me in his arms, and I was completely paralyzed by the sheer force of his light touch. Still too dizzy to move, I felt him lean down, place a small kiss on my ear, then pull back a bit so that his mouth was hovering just above it.

"I am so very much IN love with you, Anna Jean Rose."

I knew what his words were meant to do. They were meant to make me happy, to make me want to dance around in triumph. But they had the opposite effect. Tears were rolling down my cheeks like nobody's business, and I was too miserable to bother to reach out and wipe them away. That was one hell of a kiss, and I wish he had never done it. It only made me realize how much I couldn't stay, even though every fiber of my being was begging me to leap into his embrace again.

"It's A.J." I whispered, finally gathering the willpower to back away and smear my tears into my skin.

He chuckled softly, but, upon seeing my waterworks, stopped immediately. "What is it…?"

"Don't you see, Rings? It would have been so much easier for me if you had never come here today! Because, no matter what, I will always know one thing; I am from the year 2010, and you live right here, right now. We can never be together."

I backed away from him some more, but he didn't notice; he was too lost in thought to notice anything, I think. I soft moan came from his lips. "Please. Don't do this."

I took another step away, stumbling slightly and falling against the wall. It was probably just as well, because at that moment my legs started wobble and I had to lean against it any way. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, and I knew my face must be splotchy and red. "I h-h-have to."

"That's not fair though!" he cried, closing a bit of the distance between us. "I love you, God damn it! You can't leave." His words rang in my head, like déjà vu. It wasn't fair. I knew it as well.

And through all of that, all I heard was that he loved me. It sounded so nice, so lyrical, that I allowed myself to take it in for a moment. "Say it again."

"I love you," he murmured immediately. "I love you, I love you. I don't care who knows it." That sent shivers down my spine. By now, my mind was practically changed. I could fall into him, and then I could be with him forever and ever.

The problem was this: I COULD fall into him, and then I COULD be with him forever and ever. But as soon as he had told me he didn't love me (God, it seemed like a zillion years ago) my mind had automatically gone into Best Friend Mode. It's okay, I had told myself, it doesn't matter. Just go back, forget all of this ever happened. You would have had to go back soon anyways, seeing as you can't just stay here forever. Life may still be going on back home, we don't know! Now, if Ringo had loved me THEN, and I had been happy and not had to console myself, things would have been different. I wouldn't have those thoughts in my head; I wouldn't feel so damn guilty.

"I'm sorry…but i-it's too late," I whispered through my tears. My heart broke in a clean half at the look on his face.

"NO, A.J. DON'T!" And that was the last thing I would ever hear of Ringo Starr, Richard Starkey, the love of my life. I slowly closed my eyes, waited a few second longer than the average blink, and reopened them.

Everything was dark in the room. I sat straight up in bed, fumbling for the lamp switch on my nightstand. I finally found it, and the entire room was bathed in light. It took me a moment to adjust, but once I had I started to freak out. What had I done? Could I go back? What about Ringo? What about me?

Taking a deep breath, I tried to look at the situation from a logical point. But my mind had never worked very logically, and I soon found that I was falling back into my mound of pillows, chest heaving with the force of my sobs. This, I thought, was heartbreak, in its truest form. There was a pain where I knew my heart should be, and much the way that particular organ pumped blood through my body, it was now pushing pain and misery into my system. It was crippling.

And through all of this, I finally managed to roll onto my side, glancing at the digital clock (though I have way too much pride to actually admit this, I can barely read analog clocks. But if that ever gets out I'll deny it with everything I have) that was where it had always been in my seventeen years of exsistance. The time on that clock read 1:58 a.m. Thinking back upon my first night with the Beatles, I realized that that was probably around the time that we had left.

It was strange, delightfully strange, but nevertheless strange, that I was able to smile at the simple act of checking the time. But it wasn't the time checking that had really made me smile. No, it was more of the fact that John Lennon had, in the end, kept his promise; I was home before morning.

**Guys…do you believe it? My little A.J. is HOME! And it seemed like I was just writing those magical words that transported her into the past… God, this is sad. I don't want to end it! Haha, but I have an ending in mind. It won't make anything better, but it might give us some more closure. **

**Now I have a question for you all: sequel? Ideas? I've got nothing, so right now I'm thinking no. Tell me what you think.**


	20. The End

**Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry! I would be pissed as hell if I was reading this right now after that like…what…two and a half week wait. I honestly tried to write this sooner, but…I just couldn't. And even now, the words are so damn forced. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I've lost my love for this story. In that case, it's a good thing this is the last chapter. I just really want to thank you guys for reading, reviewing, and being so fucking supportive. This is actually the first story I have ever finished, and I owe it all to you people. So…thanks again. Just so you all know, this is the end. The finale. The cherry on top and the icing on the cake. Wait… Anyways, I'm not going to have an author's note at the bottom like I usually do, because I think it might ruin it. I want the last words to have SOME affect (I don't even know if that's the right affect/effect…who the hell cares, it's summer!) And now, here it is, the final chapter, something I've been waiting so long to say. Chapter twenty:**

My head was resting in my palm, and my elbow supported everything. I was lying on my side, my bare feet twisting together anxiously, and flipping through a magazine. Every now and then I would glance at the small digital clock that rested on my bedside table, but the minutes seemed to be going twice as slow today.

I was staring at the numbers, completely entranced, when something startled me; human touch. His arm slithered around my waist, his golden brown palm resting over pale one. His body was pressed up against mine, his legs intertwining with mine, and his chin coming to rest on the top of my head.

For once crazy ass moment, I thought he was Ringo. And that was completely ridiculous, obviously, so I don't know where that came from. But even thinking That Name gave off a pang in my chest. So, I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the newcomer.

"Des," I said.

"A.J," he answered.

He laughed, leaning down and pressing his lips lightly to mine. His hand moved up slowly, finally resting on my rosy cheek and making the kiss that much sweeter.

You wanna know something? Something I'm so God damned ashamed of? For a second there, I imagined Ringo taking Des's place. Ringo kissing me so gently, Ringo's palm cupping my cheek, Ringo pulling back and just smiling at me. But it wasn't. And once again I reminded myself how that was my fault. There we go; another pang.

"You ready?" Des asked in that deep, melodic voice, his eyes flitting around my face and examining it.

I sighed, shaking my head and looking up at the ceiling. "I dunno…it's been so long."

Des chuckled. "I know. You used to blow me off every Sunday to go visit her, and then you just don't go for three months."

I nodded, unable to say anything. The truth was, I was scared to visit Maggie Mae. I didn't know if she would remember my trip to the past or not, as it was always so hard to tell what she truly remembered.

"It's your fucking grandma, why the hell would you be nervous to see her?" he wanted to know, frowning a little bit.

Des didn't know. I had been back for three months (well, technically I was never gone…but that's just technically) and I never told him once about what happened. I never even hinted at it. It wasn't like he didn't notice the change in me; before, I talked about the Beatles any chance I got, and now it hurt just to remember their names.

"I just…" Should I tell him? Would he think I was crazy? "…found out some stuff about her that I didn't know, I guess."

His nose crinkled. "Bad stuff?"

Was it bad? Was Gramma being with John really that bad? I mean…hell yes, it was fucking horrible. But I missed John. That couldn't be denied. And because I missed him…I did have a LITTLE bit of affection for him, buried somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep inside.

"Nah, not bad necessarily. She just…well…"

"Lied?"

For some reason, I didn't like how he jumped to that conclusion. I mean, it was probably because I didn't want to admit to myself that yes, Maggie Mae lied all those years when she said that Robert Ryan was her daughter's legitimate father. But…he raised her, didn't he? He took care of her, he loved her, he fed her, paid for her, and sheltered her. So John might have been my mother's father, but there was no way in hell he was her dad. No. Way.

"No. She just…didn't tell the truth."

Des narrowed his eyes slightly and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently he decided against it and snapped his mouth closed. "You need to talk to her," he informed me, rolling off my bed and standing up straight.

Can I just say? Des is tall. Like…beastly tall. And skinny. So we make quite a pair, him and I; he towers above everyone and everyone towers above me.

Just thought I'd throw that out there.

He pulled me to my feet, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. That was the one thing that made me question my experience in the past; my hair. When I left, it was so damn short. So short every time I looked into the mirror I had to double take because I thought I was one of my brothers. But when I woke up, back home in 2010, it was just how it used to be; long and wild and curly and annoying.

"C'mon," he said, "we need to go."

The nursing home was eerily cold, smelled like old people, and made me incredibly sad. I just hated it here. But I used to go religiously with my mom to see Gramma, and after a while I always got used to the stink.

I knocked on Maggie Mae's door, Des standing beside me and holding my hand. I looked down and saw our intertwined fingers, and all of a sudden I had a flash of Ringo holding my hand as he pulled me onto his back and we ran away from Chuck. A lump rose in my throat, but I quickly swallowed it down.

"Come in," a voice called from inside. A voice I recognized immediately. I went in first, then Des. He was no stranger to Gramma, but sometimes people she didn't see often startled her.

She was sitting on a little chair near the window, her curly white wisps of hair lying flat on her head. She looked over at us upon entering, but there was no flicker of recognition in her now milky blue eyes.

"Hey, Gramma," I said hesitantly, taking a few steps toward her. "It's me, A.J."

She looked up at me, smiling absently. "A.J.?"

I couldn't tell if she remembered me from her past, and it was highly unlikely. She hardly remembered anything these days. "Yeah…er…your granddaughter?"

Her eyes slipped past me and looked at Des. She cocked her head in confusion, looking a little desperate.

"This is Des," I told her, catching on. "I think you might have met him before. My boyfriend?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed brightly, as though she knew. But I could tell it was an act. "Such a strapping young man!"

I snorted, but managed to cover it up as a sneeze. Des ducked his head, all embarrassed.

I took a deep breath, because I knew what came next. I spun around, facing Des. "Listen, could you like…wait in the hall or something?"

He nodded right away, then hurried into the hall. He was probably scared at what Gramma might say next. I turned to face her, and found her to be staring out the window again, a pleasant grin etched on her face. I pulled up a chair beside her.

"Gramma…could I ask you a question?" I looked down at the chipped nail polish the colored my nails. This was gonna be hard. If I was someone else, someone who was afraid to talk to people and put themselves out there, this task would nearly be impossible. But God knows I wasn't one of those people.

"Yes, of course, dear," she chirped, resting her eyes back on me.

"Why…" I took a deep breath. "Why didn't you ever tell Mom about John?"

Gramma looked at me, not comprehending. "John who?" she inquired, smoothing the pale yellow sweater she had on.

"Er…Lennon."

Something in her face changed. She looked at me for a few moments, as though she was struggling for words. "I had a friend named A.J. when I was younger, you know."

Her words echoed in my head. _I had a friend named A.J…_ Tears pricked at my eyes. The last time I had talked to Maggie Mae, I had been desperate for her to stay, for the future to be changed. And she walked away, she left. And back then, I knew it would be the last time I ever spoke to her. Sure, I was speaking to her right now, but she had no idea who I was. No fucking idea. So I didn't count it.

To be honest, my going into the past didn't serve to do a damn thing except break two hearts. John? He was still dead. Such a hard headed, stubborn, self-depended idiot, that man was. He didn't listen to me. I doubt he even believed me. George? Now that one was unfair. He followed through with his promise; he never smoked another cigarette again. But, he inhaled a lot of second hand smoke. He died from lung cancer anyways.

I once again swallowed back my tears, now focusing on Maggie Mae once more. "Really?" I asked.

She smiled, glad that I was interested in her story. "Pretty name, don't you think?"

She had totally forgotten who I was. She didn't know my name anymore, let alone my relation to her. "I-I guess."

She nodded slowly, her eyes becoming distant once more. I had to tell her, and I had to do it now. I took another deep, quivering breath. "John told me to tell you that he loved you. And that he was so…" I chose to omit one of the words he told me to used, "…sorry about everything that happened."

She looked back at me slowly. And for a moment she just stared at me, and I couldn't tell if she knew what-or who-I was talking about. Then, after a few moments, her eyes began to glisten with tears.

Oh, God. I could take a lot of shit, but I didn't know if I could take this. I stood up swiftly, almost knocking my chair over. "Listen, Des is waiting for me, so I gotta go."

Without waiting for a response, I began to barrel towards the door, blinking fast and trying with all my might not to cry. I was almost at the door when she said something.

"Jeanie?"

She thought that I was my mother. That was just fucking dandy, huh? I turned around slowly, facing her once more. "Yes?" I answered, though I knew I should have corrected her. It was just easier this way.

"I just want you to know, that I loved your father very much. And that I still do." One single, fat tear rolled down her withered cheek. She smiled at me again. "Have a nice week."

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I had to get out of there. I tried to choke out a goodbye to her, but I wasn't sure if anything came out. The next thing I knew I was sprinting down the hallway and out to the car, practically hyperventilating. But I wouldn't cry. That I was determined about.

I stopped when I got to the car, taking deep, even breaths and fanning my face. When I heard footsteps, I looked up, expecting to see Des. Instead, I saw someone ELSE that I hadn't seen in a while.

"A.J., my dear," Papa Ryan drawled in his thickly accented voice. "What's wrong?"

He was probably visiting Gramma. But that was all I could work out about his sudden appearance. I struggled to think straight, scared that if I started speaking something I didn't want to say would slip out. "Uh…y-yeah I'm fine."

He shuffled a little bit closer to me, his frown deep. "You're sure? When I didn't hear from you…"

And then I realized that we weren't talking about the same thing. I stared blatantly, forgetting all about what had just happened. "I'm…doing better, I guess."

That was an understatement. When I first got home, I cried for two days straight. My mother was at a loss, completely freaked out at what seemed like such a sudden change. But after that, I got better. After a week I started to take calls from my friends and Des again. However, I didn't get back together with him until about a week ago. And to tell you the truth, I am still hung up as hell on Ringo.

Papa nodded, then held his arms up. "You look like you could use a hug, little girl."

I laughed, then moved closer to him, resting my head on his chest. Once again, that familiar smell rushed towards me. A thousand memories came crashing down on my head.

"A.J.?" a voice boomed from across the parking lot. "You okay?"

I lifted my head from Papa's embrace, taking a step back. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said once he was in ear shot.

He gazed down at me, looking all concerned. "Are you sure? Because-"

"I said I'm fine," I snapped. He looked rather taken aback for a second.

"Uh…well, okay. Meet me in the car, okay?"

I nodded following him with my eyes til he was safely where he said he would be. Then I looked back at Papa Ryan. He was looking at me, a toothy grin plastered on his face, his eyes bright and shimmering.

"That's my girl," he chuckled, reaching a hand out and ruffling my hair. He pointed inside at the door. "So I take it you've already seen her?"

The memory flashed before my eyes for a moment. I cringed. "Er…yeah."

He nodded, as though he understood perfectly. "I see. Well, I've got to go. Give me a call later, okay?"

"I will," I vowed. But I don't know if he heard me, as he was already making his way towards the doors. As always, that grin was still etched on his face.

It was later that night that I realized that I should do my laundry. It was the first time that I had worn these jeans since I got back from Liverpool, as they were filled with too many memories. But I had run out of clothes, and they were my last option, so I figured what the hell.

I was emptying my pockets, because I ALWAYS forget to do that and ending up losing tons of money. In one of the back pockets, there was a candy wrapper and a few coins from earlier today. In the right front pocket, I found a phone number. I didn't think that it had been there earlier, but I couldn't be sure. I rested it on top of the washing machine. In the left front pocket, I found a small, folded piece of yellow paper. I frowned, unfolding it so that it was open and flat in front of my face.

It read: JOHN'S FUCKING PUDDING! WHAT DON'T YOU PEOPLE GET ABOUT THAT?

My hand began to quiver, my other hand coming up slowly to touch my lips. Fuck. I glanced over at the scrap of paper with the number that was currently resting on top of the washing machine. It all suddenly made sense. Papa must have slipped it to when he was hugging me earlier…

I clasped my hand around the yellow paper, squeezing hard, and picked both the phone number and my cell phone up. I stared at them both, my heart beating extraordinarily fast. It was impossible…wasn't it? There was no way…

I spun around, leaning my back against the wall in the laundry room and sinking down so that my knees were pulled up to my chest. I slowly punched the digits that were on the paper into my cell phone. My palm was sweating so much I could hardly hold the device.

Once the numbers were in, I sat there, staring at them. Should I…call? I didn't know. What if I was wrong? What if it was just some random number that I had never bothered to take out of my pocket? That disappointment…it would be crushing.

Hell with it. Since when had I ever been one to overthink things? Never. Just do it, I told myself. So, with unneeded force, I pressed send.

The phone slowly made its way up to my ear. I waited with baited breath for it to start ringing. And then-

One ring.

Oh, God. What if they all hated me now? What if Ringo told them all what a nasty bitch I was and that he hated me and now THEY all did?

Two rings.

My heart was leaping out of my chest. If it rang ONE MORE FUCKING TIME I swear to God I was gonna have a heart attack and die.

Three rings.

Nope, still alive. They were probably just going to ignore the call. They probably weren't even home. This probably wasn't even their damn number. That's alright. Who said I even WANTED to talk to them anyways? I mean, that would just open old wounds, wouldn't it?

Four rings.

Who the hell was I kidding? I wanted to hear their voices again SO FUCKING BAD! I wanted to have to strain to hear George as he mumbled, I wanted to have to hang up on Paul when he just went on and on about something I didn't care about, I wanted to yell at John for being an asswipe and not listening to me. Most of all, I wanted to tell Ringo that I was sorry, but I left for him. And that no matter what, I would always love him.

Five rings.

WHY WOULDN'T THEY FUCKING PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE?

"'Ello?"

I sucked in a deep breath quickly, that familiar voice bringing back all kinds of memories. There was so many things I wanted to say to him. So many God damned things. But I couldn't make myself speak. Those tears I had been holding back all day? Yeah, now the floodgates were released. Salt water poured from my eyes, and I gasped and struggled for breath.

"'Ello?" he repeated. "Er…are you all right?"

These words made me cry harder, heavy sobs that wracked my body, and made my hands quiver. I thought he would hang up. I honestly thought he would. But he didn't. I could hear his voice on the other line, breathing steady, being there for me even though he didn't know who I was.

I gathered myself enough to force out words. "She said…she…still loves you…" I gasped, desperately trying to get ahold of myself.

There was complete silence on the other line. Nothing at all was said. But that's okay; I could tell that he knew. That was all that mattered to me. And now, I knew the reason that Papa had brought me into the past. It wasn't to fall in love, and it wasn't to save John Lennon or George Harrison. It didn't really have anything to do with Maggie Mae or him, either. Those were just things that I learned and picked up along the way.

No, the true reason was on the other line, breathing heavily and not saying a word. It was knowing that I'd always have someone, any of the four of them, just a phone call away. It was having the knowledge that even when I didn't believe I was anything special, I had four of THE MOST special people that ever lived to tell me I was wrong. It was having friends so far away, yet close enough that I would never be lonely again. And if one day, they didn't answer? That was okay. I'd still have them through their music, and the memories that we shared. One way or another they'd always be there for me…

Any time at all.


End file.
